Sun and Moon
by Fever Dream
Summary: Shira Casema is a Jedi Exile who yearns for human connection. Atton Rand is a spacer who thinks he would rather just be left alone. When a series of dangerous coincidences throw them together, anything can happen.
1. Another Kind of Trouble

Chapter 1: Another Kind of Trouble

He hadn't had anything to eat in days, but what he really wanted was a stiff drink. Right now, even watered-down Nar Shaadaa juma juice served in a scummy glass was looking good. Mining colony holding cells aren't exactly renowned for their hospitality, but previously at least they'd remembered to feed him once in a while. Now, he suspected they had more formidable problems to deal with – even through metal doors, the sounds of blasters firing and circuitry exploding were hard to ignore. And then, worst of all: silence. He'd been in his share of scrapes, but at least in those cases, he'd anticipated a reasonably quick death. Waiting around in an energy cell to die of thirst, hunger or boredom was a relatively new and much less desirable option.

As the security door opened, he was surprised not to experience the quick jab in the back of his mind that always signaled trouble was on its way. And then she strode in, and he knew he was in trouble, just not the kind he'd anticipated. It's hard not to stare at a gorgeous woman in her underwear under normal circumstances, never mind when she's the first female you've seen in weeks and she's wielding a vibroblade with unnerving confidence. His eyes strayed over her shapely, muscular thighs, lingered on the curve of her full breasts and then rose up towards a beautiful face barely attempting to conceal its annoyance.

"Nice outfit. What, you miners change regulation uniforms? Can't say I'm complaining though…"

Her green eyes narrowed. "Just keep your eyes up and tell me who the hell you are."

"Atton. Atton Rand." The fabricated name still felt ridiculous to him. "Excuse me if I don't shake hands. The field only causes _minor_ electrical burns."

"Charmed. So, Atton Rand…mind telling me what you're doing in a force cage?"

"Eh, security claimed I violated some trumped-up regulation or other."

"What happened here? The place has been abandoned. All that's left are the bodies and some very aggressive mining droids. It's like a battlefield out there."

"I don't know. I wasn't exactly at liberty to conduct a full investigation." At least one question he could answer honestly. "There were some explosions, some blaster fire and then, nothing. Whatever happened, it didn't sound very good."

"And believe me, it looks even worse."

This Jedi reminded him of another he had known, but not in her appearance. Where the other was light-haired, her skin browned and freckled by distant suns, this Jedi's skin was moon pale and her hair was dark. No, it was only the shadow of sadness that moved across her face when she was silent that made the two suddenly seem so similar.

"Listen, I can help you get out of here," he said. "I'm a crack pilot, I can get through any lock you put in front of me and I'm good with a blaster. Plus, in case you haven't noticed, I'm just damned nice to have around. So will you let me out of this force cage, already?"

She sighed and turned to the security terminal. Her fingers jabbed rapidly at the keys. "Why not? You may be conceited, dishonest and in need of a bath or six, but you make better company than a squadron of angry mining droids. Okay…just a moment…there."

The force cage disappeared in a cascade of golden light. He grinned and tried to saunter forward, but his legs felt like jelly. "Whoa, there! Okay, just give me a second to get my space legs."

The Jedi raised her hand to cover her mouth, but he could see she was trying to suppress her laughter. She's even lovelier when she smiles, he thought. Too bad it probably happens only once a decade.

"Well," he huffed. "I'm glad I can be such a source of amusement. I'd like to see how well you can walk after a week in a force cage. So can I find out my rescuer's name or do you like to stay the mysterious Jedi?"

Her hand dropped from her lips. "What makes you think I'm a Jedi?"

"Maybe because you answer questions with questions. Do they teach courses on that in Jedi training school?" It was always his least favourite thing about the Jedi and their infuriating way of thought. Why could they never say what they meant? Why could they never leave well enough alone?

"Sometimes a question can be an answer too."

"I guess that means you want to stay the mysterious Jedi. That's fine. I probably wouldn't trust me either."

She eyed him contemptuously, a sardonic smile spreading across her lips. "No, I don't make a habit of trusting smugglers, since we're discussing occupations. I'm guessing you also play a mean game of pazaak, skifting included?"

Those lips were as succulent as the rest of her, he thought. He wondered why the Force would waste such gifts on Jedi. They already had the intergalactic market cornered on sanctimoniousness; surely they could get along without beauty?

"I play pazaak, but believe me, sweetheart, I don't need to cheat." At least not when he was playing in his head. "And as much fun as this little getting-to-know-you session is, I'd like to find a way out of this dump, uh, say, sometime in the next millennium. When I get back to civilization, I'm planning to head straight to the nearest cantina and drink enough juma to wash any memory of this damned mining colony right out of my head."

"Well, if we do manage to get out of here, you can go right ahead," she replied. She turned and strode back towards the administration center, tossing her last words over her shoulder: "I won't stop you."

Part of him wished she would stop him. After all, he thought, there has to be a reason for all those deaths, for the indistinguishable, endless days and nights spent counting cards and the sounds of the engines, wishing I were dead or dead-drunk so I wouldn't have to remember their screams. Maybe she's my way out, he thought. He'd always attracted trouble, but in this case, trouble was starting to attract him.



She lay in the darkened dormitory, unable to sleep even though her aching body yearned to rest. They were safe now, at least as safe as they could be before reaching Telos. She should have been able to shut her eyes and fall into the kind of deep slumber she experienced only after pushing her body to its limits. Yet there was also such a temptation to mull over the past, to worry about the future, to indulge in all the habits her Jedi training had sought to rid her of. _Stay in the moment_ , they'd said. _Let the past slip passed you. Let the future fly before you._ The words had come to them so easily, but she wondered how many of them had been strong enough or complacent enough to put them into practice.

It had been only one day but suddenly everything was different. She could feel the Force flowing through her bruised limbs. It was really just a trickle of water compared to the vast sea that enveloped the Masters in the serenity that she and all the other Padawans had aspired to have. No, it wasn't much more than a few drops of that ocean, but it was a relief compared to the years she'd spent wandering the galaxy, her body reverberating with its own hollowness.

The bandage she'd wrapped around her arm had come undone and begun to unravel. She sat up, tying the sheet around her naked body, and began to rewrap it, more tightly this time. It was a wound that would probably scar, caused by a stab of a Sith assassin's vibroblade piercing through her armor. It had been relatively easy to stitch back together because the sides of the skin had been cut evenly but she'd hated the work and cringed as the needle slid into her skin. She was ashamed of her weakness and glad that she'd chosen to tend her wound in the dormitory, away from Atton's jibes and Kreia's scoffing. Now, Kreia, she was as tough as a zabrak's hide – her hand was gone, cut clean by a lightsaber and yet all she had to say was that it was "a necessary sacrifice". The pain they'd shared through their force bond had been enough to stagger her, a former Jedi and soldier in the prime of her life, and yet a frail, withered old woman hadn't flinched. It impressed her. It scared her.

"Hey."

She looked up to see Atton standing at the entrance way. In the darkness, she could just make out his crooked smile and that lock of brown hair that invariably seemed to fall across his forehead. Whenever she stood close to him, she somehow felt compelled to brush it back into place.

She instinctively felt for the sheet around her. It was secure but not secure enough for her liking. "Hello. Shouldn't you be off piloting the ship?"

"I figured I'd let the automated trash can take a turn driving so I could enjoy a little stroll, eat a preserved tube of – what is this anyway?" He ambled into the dormitory, squinting comically at the tube in his gloved hand. "Creamed corn. Mmmmm. Delicious."

"I thought you'd save your appetite for Telos. I imagine that's where you'll be leaving us." As soon as the words escaped her lips, she regretted them. Her voice sounded as cold, hard and crystalline as that of Kreia. He listens to me and he hears another sour, pucker-faced old Jedi spinster in training, she thought.

"Or do you mean to say that's where you hope you'll get rid of me?"

"No, I – I didn't mean that. You've been extremely helpful and I've – well, I've been rude. I might be able to learn some manners if only I could find a protocol droid that wasn't out to blast me into space dust." She re-secured her arm bandage with its metal clip, feeling his eyes upon her. Why did he always have to look at her that way, as though he could peel back her clothes if he wanted, as if he could peel her secrets from her, one by one, slowly, softly as one might pluck leaves and petals from a plant? She felt her cheeks flush, her throat tighten and she tried to calm herself, to feel the soft emanations of the Force stirring around her.

"An apology? For me? What a nice surprise."

If she couldn't be calm, she only wished to appear that way. "And so now we get some more sarcasm. Unlike me, Atton, you're actually quite predictable."

"Yeah, I'm a barrel of laughs," he said, arching one thick eyebrow. "So I guess what I want to know is - are you alright? You've had a rough day even by my standards."

"I'm okay, thank you. My connection to the Force has come back just a little bit, so really, I'm better off than I've been in a long time."

He crouched down, so that his face was level with hers. His eyes were deep and dark and for a moment, seemed inexpressibly sad. "Is that why you're hiding in here with your wounds? I saw you take that vibroblade in the arm, you know."

"I'm not hiding. I'm just trying to sleep."

His gloved hand brushed over her bare shoulder. For a second, she shut her eyes, feeling his touch thrill through her body. And then it was gone and Atton was moving away.

"Well, I'll let you get to it then," he said. "I know I shouldn't have invaded… your privacy – well, what little privacy we can get in this joint. I'm just glad you're feeling better."

He beat a quick retreat to the door, but just when she thought the conversation -perhaps one of their last conversations, was over - he lingered for just a moment in the entranceway, his broad back in silhouette. "So, Jedi, do you ever plan on telling me your name?"

"My name's Shira," she said.

"Have a good sleep, Shira. Something tells me you're going to need all the rest you can get."

She lay down and wrapped the sheet closer around her body. Compared to sweltering Peragus, space was cold …and empty.

Kreia, with her deceptively sightless eyes and her unfathomable mind frightened her, but Atton - he presented another sort of danger. His touch had been more biting than the assassin's blade and it had cut more deeply. Yes, he was another kind of trouble.


	2. The Gamblers

Chapter 2 – The Gamblers

_I wonder whether the fool's mind is as hard to read in his sleep as it is when he wakes. Surely, Exile, you want to know those you travel with_.

The cowl of Kreia's cloak slipped backward slightly, providing Shira a glimpse of the empty white orbs that had once been her eyes. It was exhilarating to open her mind to Kreia, to exchange thoughts with a teacher again, but she wished that said teacher wasn't so impatient and so determined to place her every thought on the dissecting table.

Shira's gaze turned back to Atton. His sleeping body sprawled out on the bed, she could hear the rise and fall of his breath and sometimes the faint catch of a snore in his breathing. She knew he'd waited until she and Kreia were deep in meditation before he'd allowed himself to succumb to his own exhaustion – surely he would not be pleased to know the two Jedi were now observing him as he indulged in a few hours of rest.

_Kreia, I agree with you that he's hiding something. But I don't believe that what we don't know will necessarily hurt us. You and I have our secrets, I think. Why shouldn't he have his own?_

Kreia's thin lips curled into a grimace of disdain. _Yes, very reasonable, indeed. And I hope you won't have cause to regret your scruples when he's holding a blade to your throat. Has it never occurred to you that he may be affiliated with the Exchange bounty hunters from Nar Shaddaa? He certainly seems quite anxious to travel to that noxious place._

The idea had burdened Shira's mind as well when she'd thought about his strangely coincidental appearance on Peragus. _I've considered it, yes. But when I first met him, you told me that you sensed he wouldn't harm me, that he might be a help to us. He's already saved us twice, Kreia. Whatever barricade he has put up in his mind, I think he's earned the right to it._

Kreia's face fell into shadow again under the brown hood. _What I sensed was that he would not hurt you for the time being, that his first intention towards you would not be violent. I said that we might make him useful, as one might use a pawn in a game of dejarik. And he has been useful, I'll admit, for a fool and pawn. But what good are pawns if you don't know how to move them? And if he is not tightly controlled, kept in his place, it is quite possible that he could disturb all our plans. _

Shira volleyed back an answer. _I won't invade his mind. And if you value me as an apprentice, you'll treat him with respect. Let him have his secrets. We need to take a chance and trust him if we ever want him to trust us._

_If you wish. But I cannot respect an imbecile. Or the weakness you call compassion. Or perhaps…but I should hope it is not weakness of another sort._

_I didn't say you had to respect him. Or me, for that matter. I said that I would like you to __**pretend**__. I'll settle for quiet toleration if that's all you can muster._

"Very well," the old woman said aloud in an acid tone. She turned her bowed back on her apprentice and resumed meditating on the floor.

Shira smiled, wondering if blind Kreia missed being able to roll her eyes at the ignorance of a student. Through the window, Citadel Station gleamed out at her, a series of tall spires and low module buildings bathed in fluorescent light. Lieutenant Grenn, despite all his failings, had given them a room with a view.

"How long have I been asleep?"

Shira turned to see Atton sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"I'm not sure. I really just finished resting myself," she said. It wasn't technically a lie but she still felt ashamed to say it.

"Well, I prefer the kind of rest that comes from sleeping. In an actual bed. How is that meditation stuff relaxing?"

"It takes a while to get used to, but it is. It's like plugging a machine into its energy cell."

Atton stood up, running a hand through his already artfully mussed hair. "I'm going to hit the 'fresher and then I figured I'd take a little walk down to the friendly neighborhood cantina. I don't suppose you or the old witch would be interested in joining me?"

"Certainly not," Kreia barked.

"Sure sounds like you're getting a whole lot of meditating done over there," Atton replied. He muttered "Nasty old scow" under his breath, just loud enough for Shira to hear. He caught her eye and grinned like a boy discovered throwing stones at some hapless droid. "So, would _you _like to come out for a drink - maybe a couple games of pazaak?"

"Why not?" She was surprised at her own boldness, especially since she didn't like to drink and her experience playing pazaak extended to only a few short games played with wounded soldiers hopped up on pain medication. But life can't all be meditation and circular conversations with the ever-cryptic Kreia, she thought. Maybe having fun in the midst of all this ugliness is a risk I have to take.

The air inside the cantina was heavy with the smell of food, perfume and sweat, the thick cacophony of at least ten different languages poured out around them. At the far end of the room, twilek dancers swayed to the tantalizing rhythms of the music, their arms undulating in waves of invitation to the drunken men who watched them. Shira was surprised how much one cantina looked exactly like another, no matter what sector of the galaxy you were in.

Atton grinned and sidled up to the bar. "Now this is more like it!"

"Hey gorgeoussssh, you look goooood," a soldier slurred, wrapping an arm around Shira's neck and drawing her body close to his.

Atton reeled around. "Hey! Back off her!"

Shira gripped the soldier's hand and removing it from her body, turned to face him. She looked directly into his leering face. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry, my buddy's really drunk," another soldier said. He began pulling his companion away. "C'mon, let's go watch the dancers."

"Maybe he should go home and sober himself up instead," said Shira. As the drunken man walked away, she heard him mutter the word "schutta" more than once. She shook her head, trying to shake off the eyes that followed her across the room, and joined Atton along the bar.

"You want me to go have a little talk with him?" Atton said.

"No, it's fine."

"I could take him."

She smiled at his clenched jaw and his determined glare. "I know." Sometimes Kreia was right in calling Atton a fool, but foolishness had its attractions all the same.

"I'll make this simple. Give me two glasses of juma as quick as you can make 'em," Atton instructed the droid bartender.

"Order confirmed," the droid droned, rattling away.

"What makes you think I wanted juma juice?" Shira said.

"I didn't order for you, sweetheart. Those were just for me."

"Well, now I can understand how you came to be such a – what did you call yourself – a ladies' man, was it?"

"Oh, c'mon, I'm just kidding around. Of course, the other drink is for you. I ordered it because it's a good starter for feather-weights."

The bartender droid came shuffling back with two large glasses of yellow-green juma. "Payment please".

Atton slid a 5-credit note across the counter. "Now don't go spending it all in one place."

"That is acceptable," the droid said. "Please do inform me if your glasses need refilling or if you wish to engage my sympathy protocols."

Atton took a long sip from his glass and Shira did the same. The juma was tasteless and burned the back of her throat, but she was surprised to find that she liked it more than she had remembered.

"So, are you violating all kinds of special Jedi rules by coming out here?"

"Not as many as you'd think," she said.

"Aw, that's too bad. I was hoping I'd get a chance to violate you– er, heh, I mean, corrupt you from all that goodness and light."

Shira suddenly became aware of two shapes looming up behind them. "Atton," she whispered. "We need to get out of here."

"Too late," a man's voice said from just behind her. She felt the end of what she could only assume was a blaster pistol pressing into the small of her back. "Let's go for a walk."

She turned to Atton and saw he was in a similar predicament. His captor was a tawny-haired man with ropy arms and a long slanted scar across his jaw. A Rodian dagger clutched in his fist, he forced his prisoner away from the crowded bar and towards the cantina's back rooms.

"C'mon, sweetie, we're gonna follow your boyfriend," her captor chuckled.

She wasn't going to waste her time correcting him. She walked in the direction his pistol pushed her, but she dragged her feet and let her thoughts race ahead of her. There must be a way to knock the pistol out of his grasp or distract him long enough to be able to wrench it away from his hands. If these were bounty hunters, they were obviously amateurs.

Under the music she heard Atton say, "Hey Gower, since when do you hang out on Citadel?"

"Since a little while after you scammed me out of my credits, Rand. Did you think I wouldn't find out you skifted?"

"What? I'm offended. Here I thought we were friends and now you're going to level an accusation like that?"

The tawny-haired man let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "I admire your instinct for survival, but I plan to do a lot more than level accusations if you don't pay up. With interest."

As they entered through saloon doors into the cantina kitchen, the pungent smell of cantina cooking hit Shira's nostrils. Under the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights, two droids were chopping root vegetables with vibroknives while an automated dish-washer sloshed and whirred. A Duros cook stood by, ladle in hand, as a pot fill of purple broth boiled on an electric stovetop. From habit, they ignored the interlopers as they marched through the kitchen, out of the heavy double doors and into a narrow back passage studded with private rooms.

"Listen, Gower," Atton said. "I didn't cheat in that game. I don't know who you've been talking to, but it's obvious that they're not doing you any favours. But since we're old friends, I'll make you deal. I'll give you back those credits I won from you."

Shira was surprised how calm his voice sounded. He's an even better liar than I thought, she realized. I should be taking notes.

Gower dealt Atton a hard jab in the spine with the hilt of his dagger. "Not good enough, Rand."

They pushed into a cramped, sparsely furnished room lit by a single lamp hung swinging from the low ceiling by a chain. Shira's captor shut the door behind them.

"So now that we're alone, I'm hoping that you'll be a bit more cooperative," Gower said. "It would be a shame to see something bad – or disfiguring – happen to your pretty lady friend."

"It may be that you underestimate me," Shira answered. There was a tremor in her voice but it was not a sign of fear as they supposed. She was angry and she was angry with herself for allowing that anger to grow.

"Really? And how do you plan to show us up? You going to fight me?" A cruel smile contorted Gower's scarred face. "Well, Rand, it seems your taste in women has improved. I always was a sucker for the spit-fires myself."

"I'll fight you if a fight is what you want," Shira answered. "Since you seem so confident, perhaps you'd like to lay down some stakes?"

"What kind of stakes did you have in mind, girl?" Gower said bemusedly.

"If I beat you in a fair fight, you forget about whatever money Atton owes you and you let us go."

"It's a bad deal, Gower. Don't take it," Gower's friend said.

"Shut up, Vanet. Let's hear the lady out," Gower grinned. He turned back to Shira. "That's quite the proposition. And what happens if – when – you lose?"

"You can collect your debt from Atton and you can have my ship."

At this point, Atton looked about ready to interject but she shot him a look that stopped a word of protest from escaping his lips. Instead he bit them. Hard.

"What ship?" Gower said. "How do I know it even exists? I need better collateral than that."

"Are you afraid to bet that you can beat me? I don't have anything else to offer you here, but if I lose, I'll sign the Ebon Hawk over to you. You can pick it up at the docks with full papers."

Gower drew closer to her, still brandishing the Rodian dagger. "Not good enough. But there is one thing in this room that you can offer me. I've always wanted to have a personal slave girl. You lose and I get to take you along with Atton's debt."

"Shira, that's insane! Just let me work this out on my own. It's just a big misunderstanding between me and an old drinking buddy," Atton said.

Gower chuckled. "Let the lady decide for herself, Rand. You shouldn't 'ave cheated me. Maybe now I'll cheat you."

"If you make it a fair fight, then I'll accept your terms," Shira said. "Do you have vibroblades?"

"My weapon of choice. Vanet, get two blades out of the locker."

Shira stood across from Gower, vibroblade in hand, and let her body slip into fighting stance. Gower was tall and brawny, but she could see that his technique was lacking – he relied too much on the power of his arms but his grip on the blade's hilt was surprisingly insecure. She parried his first blow easily and sidestepping his next, caught him with quick jab to his side.

"Ha, not bad," Gower said, stumbling backward a few steps. He swung the blade again, but Shira darted away, leaving him to slice air.

Atton sidled up to Vanet. "She's something, eh?"

"Yeah, she'll make Gower a nice-" Vanet didn't get to finish his reply before his face made contact with Atton's fist.

Atton pryed the blaster pistol out of Vanet's hand and beat him again with its butt. He trained the gun on Gower while still pressing his steel-toed boot on Vanet's windpipe. "You really should look into getting better help, old buddy. You always insisted on spending time with cretins who could barely hold a blaster. Now drop the blade and play nice before someone gets hurt."

"Let me finish this, Atton," Shira said. "He gave me a fair fight and now I'm going to give him one."

"You've got to be kidding me," Atton sighed. He held the blaster in place but didn't fire.

Gower slashed at Shira again and she countered him, but the power of his attack staggered her for a moment. She pulled back into fighting position and aimed two swift blows to his chest, both of which he blocked. He's starting to tire, she thought, hearing him pant heavily. She knew what she had to do.

She let him swing at her several more times, carefully avoiding his attacks and watching his strength erode and his grip on the blade relax.

"I'm going to enjoy beating you, you little schutta," Gower said. "Just because your daddy taught you a little sword-fighting don't mean you can beat a former corporal in the Onderon Royal Guard."

She delivered a powerful blow to the hilt of his blade, skimming over his big leathery hand. His blade fell to the floor.

"I guess I should have mentioned that I used to be a General," Shira said, leveling the blade at Gower's chest.

"So what now? You going to kill me?"

Shira gave a short, dry laugh. "No. But I will take all your weapons. And I do expect that you'll live up to your end of the bargain and get the hell off this station."

"I guess you're lucky this time, Rand. But don't plan on making a lot of friends here on Citadel," Gower said, clutching his bleeding hand.

"S'okay," Atton drawled. "I've never won too many popularity contests."

Shira and Atton walked back from the cantina stowing a full arsenal of weapons. Shira had a feeling Lieutanent Grenn would not be pleased at the news, but she had to admit it was nice to have some means of protecting herself again. The officers at the TSF had proven themselves to be questionable administrators of justice at best and until she regained her own possessions, she felt much safer with a blaster pistol or two.

"I'm sorry about that little incident," Atton said. "I wasn't expecting a family reunion."

"It's fine," Shira replied. "I'm just afraid I may have enjoyed beating that guy too much. Jedi aren't supposed to use their abilities like that. Out of anger, you know?"

"Hey, well, I'm not going to complain. You saved my tail. I'm grateful for that. One thing, though: I thought you didn't approve of betting."

A smile formed at the edge of Shira's lips. "I don't. What I did wasn't a gamble."


	3. What Dreams are Made On

Chapter 3: What Dreams Are Made On

In his dream, she'd worn a long poison green dress with a hem that whispered over the floor. They were in the Citadel Station cantina, but somehow the bar was empty. They were alone. The place was dead silent, but for the faint lilt of music emanating from a distant room.

Shira drew closer to him, her white arms entangling themselves around his neck. Her slender body pressed against him. "Do you know how to dance?"

"No," Atton said. Closing his eyes, he placed his hands upon her waist. Her skin smelled like the deep-throated flowers that used to grow wild on Alderaan during the summers and filled the hot air with a rich perfume that made you feel drunk or drowsy.

Their bodies swayed together slowly, not quite in time to the music. Her soft breath fluttered against his neck.

"You kill me," he whispered. His hand traveled from her waist, up along her spine and towards her dark, glossy hair. He cradled her head in his hand, surprised at how small she was, how delicate in spite of her strength.

She drew back from his arms, her limpid eyes suddenly growing wide with terror. "No, you kill me."

The lights went out.

_He opened his eyes and found himself in Interrogation Room 2-B. Prisoner 164 was harnessed to a metal chair bolted in the center of the room, a Force-restricting visor shoved awkwardly upon her head. There were two electrodes stuck to the bare, freckled skin above her chest. Beneath the visor, she squinted into the glare of the intense light he shoved towards her face. _

"_I don't want this to be any harder than it has to be," he said. "It should be obvious to you by now that this is a battle that you don't have to fight. But if you fight it, 164, you will lose." _

_The Jedi remained silent, staring at him. _

"_Okay, have it your way." He pressed the red button on the remote in his hand._

_Her body jolted in the chair as electricity surged through her. Her eyes rolled back sickeningly and her teeth clattered together, flecks of spit escaping her mouth._

"_I'll bet that makes you pretty angry, doesn't it?" he said. "I wonder what you'd like to do to me, if only you could get out of that chair."_

_The Jedi squeezed her eyes shut, gulping a deep breath of air. Her tawny brows furrowed in concentration. _

_He wondered if she would cry soon, if she would plead for her life as some of the others did. And then he'd present her with her options – join us or die for your Jedi code. After all, a Jedi's life is sacrifice. _

"_You'd like to kill me, wouldn't you?" he continued. "If you had that light saber of yours, you'd cut me in half. You'd enjoy seeing me suffer, wouldn't you, Jedi? I can feel the hatred growing inside you. Don't deny it. It's what will set you free."_

"_I don't hate you," she said, her voice flat and husky. "I pity you."_

"_Pity this." He pressed the button again, but this time he held it a second longer than he should have, than they'd told him to do. _

_The Jedi's body bucked against her harnesses. Blood trickled from her chattering mouth. Apparently she'd bitten her tongue. _

_He leaned over her and smeared the trail of blood with his finger. "Do you still feel sorry for me? Because I don't feel sorry for you. All I want is an answer to my question. What do you want to do to me?"_

_She stared at him and her eyes seem to sear through his flesh. Her mouth was still bleeding and she formed her words with difficulty. "I…want…to…save you."_

Atton started awake in the darkened dormitory room of the Ebon Hawk, banging his head against the low ceiling of the bunk.

"Uggggh," he groaned. When he pressed a hand to his cheek, he was surprised to find that it was moist. Maybe there was a leak in the ceiling.

He hoisted himself out of bed. He had taken up the habit of sleeping in his clothes, which explained why they were perpetually rumpled. Padding out of the dormitory and down the corridor to the central hub of the ship, he headed towards the cockpit.

T3-M4 was piloting the ship, emitting little beeps as it scanned the controls and interfaced with the navigation systems. Shira sat in the navigator's chair, reading a datapad. When she noticed him looking at her, she turned and smiled.

"Hello," she said. "I was wondering when you'd show up. I know you don't like to share piloting duties."

He sighed. "Yeah, I'm ready for my shift." He couldn't stand to have her look at him, to feel her smile warm him like sunlight, to know that she trusted him. Kreia, that old hag, is right about me, he thought.

He ripped T3 away from the ship's navigation system with a single rough tug on the droid's metal frame.

T3 beeped a complaint.

Atton scowled. "Get out of here, you stupid hunk of scrap!"

"Hey, be nice to T3. He didn't deserve that," Shira said.

He sat down in the pilot's seat and pretended to busy himself with the controls. He knew she was looking at him and wondering why he wouldn't answer her.

Shira spoke again. "You seem unhappy tonight. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he said.

She stood up, her eyes still fixed upon his expressionless face. "Alright, well, I'm going to go…somewhere else. Anywhere else. Let me know when you decide to be civil."

He listened to the sound of her feet upon the ship's floor as she walked away. Alone in the cockpit, he began to count cards in his head.



Shira sat on the floor in the ship's dormitory and tried to ease herself into meditation. She could feel the Force pressing in around her, flowing through her fingertips and seeping into her skin. Her stay on Telos and her reunion with Atris at the new Academy had increased her connection to the Force, but she knew that she was less capable of controlling her emotions than when she had been but a sheltered and inexperienced Padawan. Perhaps a steady regimen of meditation would help to center her.

Shira shut her eyes and let her cupped hands rest upon her knees. She tried to visualize the universe as a single entity, a vast series of connected objects, people, places and events in which nothing was separate, nothing was isolated. For a moment, the power hummed through body, singing in her blood, but then she felt her aloneness and the Force left her. It was gone.

Somehow, the Force came to her most strongly when she was with others – when Kreia lectured her or when Bao-Dur showed her his latest invention. Unlikely as it seemed, she could even sense it emanating from Atton in powerful waves. Yet when she was alone, when she should have felt the Force most strongly, it often seemed to dry up, to disappear.

She sighed, resting her head in her hands. Was she strong enough for this next step on her journey - Dantooine? The idea of confronting her old Masters one by one, of opening herself again to their censure and their blame, made her feel queasy. They would be able to sense her loss of control, they would know the anger, the sadness, the petty frustrations and unfamiliar desires that now plagued her. They would pity her and then they would dismiss her as an exile, a fallen student doomed to wander in the meaningless, broken universe she had created for herself.

Her mind flashed to Atton's face in profile as he toyed with the ship's controls. In that moment, as he ignored her, she'd heard the voice of his thoughts inside her mind. It had been a strange fragment, nonsense really – just a sequence of numbers repeating again and again. 1, 6, 4, 1, 6, 4, 1, 6, 4. What possible significance could it have?

She mentally traced over the lineaments of Atton's face: his squared jaw, his smirking mouth, a straight, strong nose a little too big for perfection, his deep brown eyes and the thick brows that loomed over them. She wondered how his lips would taste, how it would feel to press his hand against her beating heart and…

You're like some vacuous bar slut, she reprimanded herself. There'd always been attractive men to admire in the halls of the old Academy and in the first days of the War, when they'd all come sailing in with deluded hopes of adventure, glory and comradeship in arms. Yet no man, no matter how good-looking, had ever made her lose a wink of sleep at night before. No man had ever made her heart drop in her chest like a pebble when he laid his hands upon her. Perhaps it was not their fault, she thought. There were other reasons for her detachment. After a few weeks on the frontlines, she'd discovered that the soldiers had come to die. After a few years at the Enclave, she'd realized that the Jedi Order and all their precious knights planned to sit back and ignore the bodies piling up outside the gates.

And of course, when the feelings her Masters had warned her about came skulking in at last, she'd had to pick the most dishonest man she could find. He cheated at cards and he drank too much. He was an accomplished liar and a disturbingly well-trained fighter – at least, for a selfish coward willing to stoop to just about anything to save his own skin. That's a pretty accurate description of the man you're mooning over, she thought to herself. But somehow it didn't matter – or just it didn't matter at that moment, because huddled in the dark dormitory, she could trick herself into thinking that it was all a big case of mistaken identity. That somehow there could be a happy ending to this story, when all the stories she'd known had ended in burnt cities, ravaged planets, broken peoples, a crooked line of make-shift graves scrapped out of blood-red clay. This ridiculous flirtation was turning her against herself and what was more troubling, it was turning her against her training.

I can have no part of him, she thought. Even if he wanted me. Even if he knew how to help me. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. A single tear formed at the side of her left eye and pooled on the promontory above her cheekbone. With the back of her hand, she slowly wiped it away. She wondered if his face would come to her in dreams.


	4. Private Conversations

Chapter Four: "Private" Conversations

Bao-Dur was always relieved to resume his self-appointed duties in the ship's workshop, surrounded by the quiet, efficient whirring of machinery. The presence of other sentients, particularly temperamental, irrational humans, always seemed to cloud his thoughts, blunt his logic and upset his hard-earned emotional balance. However, his quiet nature had the unfortunate effect of drawing unstable humans to him like ravenous cannoks to a five-course meal. They all seemed to think he was a "good listener". Right now, it was the scoundrel human Atton who insisted on rambling at him while he undertook the delicate task of rewiring an energy shield.

"The thing about Jedi is that they pretend that they're all sweetness and light when all they really want to do is manipulate you. Twist you around their fingers, you know? She pretends to be so noble, so above it all, but everyone knows what happened on Malachor V. It's just flat-out hypocrisy. But what else can you expect from a Jedi?"

"Hm," Bao Dur said, tinkering with a tangle of copper wires. "Well, the War had a way of changing things. Changing people. I don't think anyone really came out whole." He was grateful to have only lost his arm instead of his mind. He had glimpsed the hollowness behind many of the surviving soldiers' eyes after the War. At some moments, he'd felt it rising in himself, but his work for the restoration of Telos had helped to calm him. It had given him a sense of hope that he might otherwise have lost amidst the charred remnants of Malachor V.

"Maybe the war made a difference, but maybe it didn't. Maybe she was always messed up but way back then, she was better at covering it up."

"Beep, beep birrrrrp," T-3 said.

"What's the droid saying now?" Atton said.

"Uh, he says the General's programming can be difficult to understand." Bao-Dur preferred not to lie, but he also didn't savor the idea of the scoundrel kicking the utility droid he'd just finished repairing.

"That's the first sensible thing I've heard that tin can say. Or beep," Atton replied. "I mean, in some ways, she's a damned fine woman. Someone who you think you could sort of…care about, right? Sometimes she's even got a sense of humor, when you can pry her away from the old witch for more than five minutes at a time. I guess I just wish she'd come back down to earth, where the rest of us live."

Bao-Dur smiled. "But we're in space. Mid-route to Dantooine last time I heard."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," Bao-Dur said with a sigh. Repairing machines was his specialty but somehow people always figured he could fix them too.

"She's avoiding me. I come into a room and she walks right out of it. I was in a bad mood one day, maybe I gave her the cold shoulder a bit, and now she barely speaks to me."

"Have you asked her about it?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of thinking that I care what she thinks of me. She's stuck-up enough as she is."

"Birrr-beep," T-3 interjected. "Beep-beep bot-beep!" His head spun around twice and he wheeled out the door.

Shira was tallying inventory in the medical bay when T-3 scooted in.

"Hello, T-3. I take it you've been keeping Bao company?"

"Beep-bip! Birr-bip beep-bop-beep!"

"What? Another holo-recording? I thought you'd shown me everything," she said. "Please, play it for me."

The holo-vid that T-3 projected was not what she'd expected. Instead of seeing the former Jedi Council, she saw Bao-Dur and Atton standing in the ship's garage. Atton was talking about her and certainly not in the most flattering terms.

How dare he judge her, she thought. She'd refused to go traipsing around the ship criticizing _his_ past, unsavoury as it obviously was. What gave him the right to condemn her role in the War, as though he knew the burden of leadership, the onslaught of demands and questions and doubts she'd faced as she'd tried to steer her troops through the abyss of Malachor V. And after deriding everything she stood for, every idea she'd been willing to sacrifice her life to maintain, he had the gall to complain that she didn't pay enough attention to him.

"Schutta!" she muttered. "T-3, why did you show me this?"

"Beep meep," T-3 said.

"Fine. But I don't think I need you to do any more surveillance in the ship. There are some things I'm better off not knowing."

She finished stacking med packs on the shelves with unusual speed and gusto and then strode down the hall to the room Kreia had co-opted as her personal meditation chamber. She found her teacher as sinisterly serene as ever, her hood pulled tightly over her long silver hair.

"Kreia? May I speak with you?"

"I sense you are unsettled," Kreia said.

No kidding, Shira thought. She only hoped Kreia didn't chance to hear that little aside. "I admit, I have…been disturbed as of late. I'm afraid that my emotions and my tendency towards personal attachments are inhibiting my control of the Force."

"Or perhaps they are the very things that have allowed you to regain your former connection. It is hard to discern. But I agree that these attachments are a matter of some concern. Have you reconsidered the idea I proposed to you on Telos?"

Shira frowned, remembering their telepathic conversation on Citadel Station. "That I should go snooping around in other people's thoughts?"

Kreia pursed her lips. "I don't believe I phrased it in such a crude manner – but, yes. You might be surprised what you find lurking in the minds of those you trust."

"I think I've heard enough of other people's thoughts for a lifetime. I just want to know how to stop latching on to people, how to stop needing them."

"You will never stop needing people until you've learned that they are simply tools that we must use for a greater cause. Until then, you will always be mired in…pettiness," Kreia replied in an acid tone.

Shira sat down on the floor beside her teacher and rested her warm cheek upon her cold hand. She couldn't think of a way to answer Kreia, but she felt that she could not abide by the old woman's conviction. She refused to believe that even Kreia, with all her professed pragmatism, could live in such a manner.

"Am I merely a tool to you, Kreia? How do you plan to use me in your grand scheme?"

"Do you really wish to know?" Kreia asked, her voice flat and hard. She sighed and knit her talon-like fingers together. "As you are, Exile, you are of little use to me. A broken Jedi who still clings to a hopeless creed and yearns for the shackles that she calls 'love'. A sad, tiresome story. Return when you can tell me a better one and perhaps I'll have something to share with you."

"I'm asking for your help! Can't you do anything better than insult me?"

"I've given you my advice and you've scoffed at it. Do you wish for me to smile on you and console you, tell you what a good, compassionate Jedi you are? I refuse to starve you with such false nourishment. There are others on the ship I suppose who will fawn on you if you wish to keep your cripple's heart."

"Goodbye, Kreia," Shira said, rising to her feet. Goodbye, you hateful withered old harpy, she thought. She wondered why the Force had chosen to connect her to such a vicious pile of yellowed bones. She tried to inhale a deep, calming breath, to center herself, but she could still feel the tightness of frustration in her jaw, the blood pumping through her veins.

_Come back when you don't need your fool to love you._ Kreia's voice inside her head. Shira stopped short and reeled around to glare at the old woman, but for all outside appearances, her teacher was deeply absorbed in meditation.

Maybe I just imagined it, Shira thought. Force knows, I've spent enough time listening to her pretentious lectures. Nevertheless, the possibility that Kreia might know her stupid, childish secret made her flush with shame.

She was about to cross through the central hub of the ship towards the dormitory when she saw Atton. He was pacing the room with awkward, clunky steps, twirling his blaster pistols around his fingers. As she hurried past him, her eyes trained on the corridor ahead of her, he tried a particularly ambitious combination of spins and dropped his left pistol. It hit the shipdeck with a heavy thud.

"Damn!" he muttered, bending over to retrieve it. It took him a few tries before he managed to grasp it.

Shira turned and stared at him. "Don't you have anything better to do than just loitering around, making a nuisance of yourself?"

"Unfortunately, no," he said. "Have you been saving all those nice words up just for me?" He spun the left pistol around again, quickly and skillfully, but his knees seemed about ready to buckle underneath him.

"Are you…drunk?" Shira said, moving a step closer to him. The bitter smell of Corellian whiskey hit her like a slap in the face. She crinkled her nose. "Ugh, did you go for a swim in that stuff?"

"A bottle a day keepsssh the doctor away," he slurred. "What the hell else am I supposed to do in this joint? Meditate?" He swayed from side to side, his body perilously close to toppling.

Shira folded her arms across her chest. "You're going to fall on your big, fat head if you're not careful."

"Yeah, I'm gonna sits myself down here. Down on the floor where stuff ain't spinning around so much."

She dashed forward and caught him just before his head hit the deck. His eyes lolled back in his head and his mouth gaped.

"Wake up!" She slapped the side of his face. "Don't do this…wake up!"

His eyes blinked twice and then he squinted up at her. His breath was hot upon her cheeks. "So you don't hate me. Who knew?" A smile slithered across his face and then he passed out in her arms. She lowered him gently to the ship deck and rolled him on to his side.

No, she thought, I don't hate you, you idiot, you drunk, you fool. I don't hate you because you're my fool and because, in so many ways, I'm yours.


	5. The Fool Rushes In

Chapter Five: The Fool Rushes In

Atton knew they were together in the med bay, blathering on about the Order and its mind-numbingly tedious past. I can tell the entire history of the Jedi in three sentences, he thought. Old men mumble a few riddles and sit easy in their Council chairs as people die. The galaxy goes to pot and everything falls apart. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Why in the hell was she wasting her time on that limp-wristed pretty boy anyway? The so-called "scholar" seemed to have his lips permanently suctioned onto Shira's rear end and Atton couldn't stand to watch him scurrying around after her, aheming and aha-ing and practicing his diction.

Even now, he could hear that simpering, nasal voice grating at the back of his mind: "Would you like me to peruse the holo-records for you, Shira? I believe I may be able to uncover some information that will prove quite invaluable". Who talks like that? Blondie wouldn't last a whole five minutes on Nar Shaddaa, Atton thought with considerable satisfaction. So here's hoping we head there next.

What bothered him most was that Shira actually seemed happy to see Mical, to have that miserable kath puppy follow two steps behind her and wag his tail when she tossed him an indulgent smile like a bone. Nevertheless, he couldn't seriously entertain the thought that Shira might actually like that ridiculous "Disciple". After all, the kid is just so damn…clean. No woman, he thought, wants a man that sickeningly bright and shiny. The little son of a schutta must spend at least three hours a day scrubbing in the 'fresher.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to stop by and check out what was going on in the medical bay. Galactic history had been Atton's worst subject in school, but if the conversation got too boring, he was certain he could find other ways to distract himself. He turned down the hall towards the med bay, his gait purposely slow, meandering and above all, casual. He didn't want to look like he had a reason for walking in that direction.

The med bay. Sure enough, there they were, Mical and Shira, but not quite in the position he'd expected.

Not horizontal, thankfully, but almost as bad.

They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, meditating.

He heaved a loud sigh. "Meditating, again?"

Shira opened a slanted green eye. "Yes. And let me guess: you, Atton Rand, have been spending your day playing pazaak and drinking yourself into a stupor?"

He decided it would gall her most if he treated the question like a serious inquiry. "No, I ran out of the good Corellian stuff days ago and I've had no luck getting anything with the salvagers. I should probably try Azkul and the mercs next time."

Mical frowned. "I wouldn't recommend it. Any money you give them will almost certainly fund their raids against the farmers."

"That's too bad, Michel. I figured I might head over there and see if I could buy you a sense of humour," Atton replied.

Shira shot the spacer a look of annoyance. "Atton, is this really necessary right now?"

For just a moment, a tiny muscle twitched at the side of Mical's seemingly imperturbable face. "Actually, Atton, my name is pronounced 'Mi-cal'"

Atton's mouth smiled but his eyes glowered. "Ohhh, I'm sorry. You see, Mick-Al, where I come from, we never got any elocution lessons. It's the sad cost of an underprivileged childhood."

That wasn't entirely accurate, of course. He hadn't grown up on the Shad and his family had never been strapped for credits. But he felt justified in telling his new and improved life story, twisting it into a personal mythology – it felt more truthful than the truth. After all, there are all kinds of ways to be poor.

Shira leapt to her feet, grabbed Atton by the arm and yanked him out of the room. "Excuse me for a moment, Mical," she said, from between gritted teeth. "This shouldn't take long."

"Ouch, hey General, ease up there!" Atton grinned. "There's no need to get so passionate." He could see that she was irritated, but it felt good to get her eyes back on him and away from that simpering golden boy in the med bay.

Shira's hand tightened on his bicep. It was a small, pale hand but as Atton discovered, its grip could be surprisingly firm.

"What is your problem?" Her voice combined a whisper with a snarl. "Has it ever occurred to you, Rand, that I might like to enjoy some peace and quiet once in a while?"

"Sure, it has. I just know that there are better things to do with your leisure hours than meditating in a glorified metal box. Besides ol' Mic over there knows only two things about women and both of them he read in his grandma's data-pad."

Shira's lips seemed almost ready to curl into a smile. She tried to recover her pazaak face, but Atton could see that she'd enjoyed the joke even against her best intentions.

"Mic, I mean, Mical, is a very kind - a really good-hearted person. I think that if you give him some time, eventually you're going to get to like him." Even she didn't sound convinced.

"I'll bet," Atton muttered. "Because he and I have got so much in common, right?" As he said it, he realized that they did have at least one thing in common. Too bad it was something – someone - he didn't feel like sharing.

"You know, I'm allowed to spend time with people you don't like," Shira said. She gazed directly at him, not avoiding his eyes.

He looked back for a long moment, keeping his face as steady as he held his hands when he bet high stakes. He looked at her long and hard, just enough to unsettle her, to make her shrink back a little, enjoying her wide eyes, her slightly moist lips, her cheeks flushed with anger or perhaps with…

She was about to turn away, to head back to Mical and her meditation like a good Jedi, but he barred her path by leaning his arm against the wall.

"You can waste your time with whoever you want," he said. "But I'm sure you know that there are better ways to spend an afternoon than what you're doing in that med bay."

"Like what?" she whispered, daring him.

He leaned over her, his face hovering dangerously close to hers. "You want me to write you out a list or shall I just demonstrate?"

Her eyes closed, her dark lashes fanned out against her cheeks, as she arched her neck backwards and tilted her face up towards his, expectant. The air around them was electric with the possibility. He knew it was just a matter of closing the space between his lips and hers - but he'd take his time. He wanted her to wait for it, to wonder for a tantalizing, heart-dropping second if she was going to be left standing there, more exposed than she'd ever been on Peragus, her face poised for a kiss that might not come. Inching closer, hovering over her, he watched her face, counting the moments down until…

"Shira?"

Atton silently cursed Mical's high-toned voice as the Jedi's eyes shot open and she swiftly wriggled away from him.

"Mical? I'll be right there."

Her cheeks were livid, her features frozen into a mask of shame. She's remembering the Code, he thought. She darted back into the med bay like a shot from a laser cannon

"Why don't you go have some nice, clean fun?" Atton grumbled.

The look on her face had been unmistakable. It was the same expression he'd seen on the faces of countless Jedi just before he'd won. It used to give him a rush, a high better than spice or stims or anything else you could smoke, shoot or guzzle. It had felt good to see them cut down, panic-stricken, lost. Seeing it again, watching it contort the solemn, flower-like face he'd wanted to kiss, was enough to make him nauseous. All at once, he felt the sudden urge to wash his hands, to change his clothes, to do anything rid himself of the stains always seeped through his skin.

I'm a real lady-killer, he thought. It was an ugly joke.

He stalked off to the cockpit, his impatient footsteps echoing down the ship's narrow corridor. Crouching down by the pilot's seat, he dug into the alcove under the control panel and removed the small bottle of noxious yellow liquid he'd tucked into the corner. He hadn't been lying when he said he drank all the good stuff days ago. This was the bad stuff – his emergency stash of bootlegged Nar Shaddaa juma, about as fresh, tasty and sanitary as Nal Hutta sewer water, but it would get the job done. He screwed open the bottle grimly and kicked back a mouthful. It burned his throat on the way down to a queasy stomach. This was how he liked to meditate.


	6. Grass in the Wind

Chapter 6: Grass in the Wind

The man owned a pair of tired-looking eyes, embellished with the occasional jagged red blood vessel and underlined by a pair of dark circles for emphasis. He had tousled, brown hair that hadn't seen the business end of a comb in weeks. His mouth was set in a thin, grim line.

"Why, hello there, Jaq," Atton murmured to his image in the mirror. He knew calling himself by that name was a bad habit, a habit he should have broken long ago, but somehow, this particular morning it felt appropriate. He looked like hell. He looked just the way Jaq Rand had looked the last time he'd seen him.

He splashed cold water from the refresher sink onto his face and ran a hand through his hair. Not great, but better. He wondered why he always managed to look like something peeled off the cantina floor on days when he was supposed to make a good impression. It probably had to do with the drinking he always did the night before. Well, the worst they can do is slam the door in my face, he thought, slipping a clean shirt over his head. That's nothing so new. He put on his jacket and walked out of the refresher.

_See you later, Jaq_. The words were in his mind before he could silence them, before he could re-direct himself. Of course, his mental discipline would fail him now when he was stuck in the middle of a galactic Jedi convention. He started counting the rivets in the ship's ceiling.

Shira was waiting for him outside the ship, dressed in a shimmering blue robe. She looked beautiful in spite of her obvious agitation, so beautiful that he had to struggle not gape at her like an idiot. The only thing he would have changed from the picture was the fact that Mical was standing beside her.

"Where are the others?" Mical asked him.

Atton smirked. Dr. Blondie doesn't look too happy to see me, he thought.

"What, you never heard of saying 'Hello'? Bao isn't coming. And I wasn't about to walk in on the old witch when she's meditating or Force forbid, changing her robes," Atton said. "So I guess it's the three of us. Just as chummy as can be."

Mical frowned and his clear blue eyes narrowed. "Well, no, actually, I think I've been a bit remiss in accepting your invitation, Shira. I should never have thought of leaving our new patient alone in the medical bay. It was negligence for me to even consider it."

"But you said she was in stable condition," Shira said. "We'll only be gone for a few hours and Kreia will be around to see that everything's alright."

"Yeah, Kreia and some injured Sith lackey. There's a pair I'd trust with my ship," Atton muttered.

"Good thing it's not your ship," Shira snapped.

She turned back towards the healer. "Mical, don't listen to him. Even if you don't trust Kreia, Bao is there. Nothing bad is going to happen."

Whoa there, lady, Atton thought. You can feign some concern to make the poor puppy feel better, but don't go talking him out of a good idea.

Mical shook his head. "You know I'd like to go, but I can't in good conscience abandon a patient. Please go on without me."

Atton could barely contain his triumph. Count on Mical to think that playing the martyr was the way to a woman's heart. Suddenly, the idea of supper, even in a ramshackle old Dantooine farm-house, was sounding more appetizing than ever. It had been a while since he'd last sat down and had a home-cooked meal. A long while.

They walked through the tall grass, their bodies casting long shadows before them.

"So, when's Suulru expecting us?"

Shira sighed. "Why are you so damned selfish?"

"Me? What? What'd I do? I just showed up." Atton grinned. It was fun to see her get riled up, even if it was on Wonder Boy's behalf.

"Maybe on the way you'll get stung by a kinrath. It'd serve you right."

"If a viper got me, you'd cry your eyes out." He plucked a long piece of the golden grass and clenched it jauntily between his teeth in imitation of a farmer.

Shira ripped the blade of grass out of his mouth. "Not likely. But I might shed a few tears for you if you'd stop trying to make Mical's life miserable."

Atton scowled. "Seems like his life is pretty miserable already. It must be hard to be so boring."

"So I gather you think hanging around the ship all day playing pazaak and stirring up trouble makes you interesting?"

"Hey, it seems to have captivated your attention," Atton said with a sly sideways glance. "Besides, shouldn't you be worrying about saving the galaxy or somethin'? I didn't know I needed a babysitter."

Suulru's house was really more of an ambitious hut, but Atton felt no reason to complain when the smell of dinner hit his nostrils.

A sturdy woman with honey-colored hair emerged from the kitchen to greet them.

"This is my wife, Marri," Suulru said. "Marri, these are the people who were kind enough to help recover my moisture vaporators."

Marri smiled at Shira and Atton, her plump cheeks rising to meet small blue eyes softly crinkled at the edges. "It's wonderful to meet you both. This dinner won't repay all the help you've given us here, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway."

This is getting dangerously wholesome, Atton thought. Mical would fit right in. Still it was a relief to visit somewhere where no one wanted to smash your skull in with a Force Pike for once. "Well, if it tastes half as good as it smells, you've got my vote."

Shira grasped Marri's out-stretched hand. The blonde woman reminded her of someone from her past, but she couldn't think of precisely who it would be. She's probably just one of those people who remind everyone she meets of someone they've known and liked, Shira thought. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Marri. My crew and I were glad to help in any way we could. How long have you and Suulru lived here?"

"It's been nearly three years now," Marri answered, leading them into a small kitchen.

"You should have seen the place when we first started it out," Suulru said. "It may not look like much, but when we first moved here, this place was a marsh. It was cold in the winter and it stank in the summer. It took a season of pushin' dirt and digging ditches before it was decent for working."

In the center of the kitchen, a broad metal table was laden with clay dishes, knives, forks and steaming food. On the floor, a pudgy tow-headed toddler sat on the floor playing with a toy droid. He stared at the visitors and Shira thought he looked like nothing so much as a little Hutt. She had never been sentimental about children, especially unattractive children.

"Ma!" he said, reaching his arms up towards Marri. "Ma!"

Marri stooped to pick up the child, heaving a loud sigh as she raised him up. "This is our son, Jorvick," she said. "Who is getting too big and too spoiled. I think he takes after his father!"

Shira enjoyed the evening. She was happy to eat the simple, well-prepared food, to laugh at Suulru and Marri's friendly banter, to be pleasantly surprised when Atton cleaned up after himself at the table. Even the little boy had his endearing moments, although Shira didn't feel the slightest inclination to play with him or talk to him in the sickly sweet singsong voice some adults used with children.

It was nice to be inside a home, Shira thought. By contrast, everything on the Ebon Hawk seemed so impermanent and uncomfortable – dark, empty rooms and long narrow halls. No family. No home.

Her mind flashed to an image of her mother and her father walking away from the Enclave. Her father had his arm wrapped around her mother's back. Was her mother crying? She didn't know. It had been so long ago that she couldn't help but wonder how many of the details she remembered were real and how many were invented. Had she even been allowed to watch them walk away, to see their silhouettes fade into the haze of distance amid the tall grass and endless sky of Dantooine? Surely the Masters would have taken her away and given her some homily or some scrap of Jedi Code to distract her from her helpless grief. She couldn't even remember the colour of her mother's eyes or her father's hair. In her mind, she was forced to leave the faces indistinct or give them modified versions of her own features.

It's best not to dwell on it, she thought. Even if we met again, we wouldn't know each other. The Order had become her family, albeit a strict, regimented one, with the other padawans supplying the places of the brothers and sisters she'd never known.

As they walked away from Suulru's house, the sun was setting over the gently rolling plains of Dantooine. The sun's dying light tinted the long, dry grass crimson and gold.

"The food wasn't bad," Atton said, breaking the silence.

Shira shot him an incredulous look. "I'd say it was better than that. You had three servings of everything."

Atton shrugged. "Alright, it was pretty good. But, of course, I'm used to frequenting the finer dining establishments."

"It was strange to see the inside of a house," Shira murmured. "I think I'd forgotten how normal people live. You know, ones who don't spend all their time in a run-down ship worrying about the next Sith attack."

"What's so abnormal about that?" Atton grinned. "Besides, those houses look nice and comfortable from the outside but believe me, they're prisons on the inside. Old Suulru is probably getting something extra from some cute little twilek and his own woman doesn't respect him 'cause he isn't tough enough to protect what's his. Right now, they're probably having it out, screaming and throwing plates at each other."

He gave a dry chuckle and cupped a hand behind his ear. "Wait - I think I just heard a cup smash."

Shira stared at his smiling mouth and his pebbly eyes. "You can't seriously believe that everyone in the galaxy is miserable."

The grass swayed in the breeze, trailing long fingers over their legs.

"Hey, I'm just speaking from experience here," Atton said. "The people I know just weren't made to be happy, together or apart. Even your precious Jedi Order seems to think as much. If I remember correctly, they say a little something about 'no attachments'?"

Shira's smile was rueful. She thought of her old Masters, of her old friends, who had lived and died in the ruined Enclave or squandered their lives fighting in a war where victories did not exist. She thought about her parents or at least the ones she'd imagined for herself. "I think it's a rule that no one has put into practice yet. Not even you, Atton."

Atton walked ahead of her, tramping the ground beneath his boots. "Oh, I like attachments Just not the kind that last more than a night."

"Have you ever loved anyone? I won't believe you if you tell me 'no'."

"Then, don't believe me. I don't see why it would even matter to you."

"Because I care for you, Atton," she said.

Atton stopped dead in his tracks, his body a long line black line amidst the sea of grass. He turned back to look at her, his face lined with sadness and contorted by contempt. "You 'care' for me? You think that's what I want from you?"

"What more can I give you?" Shira whispered. "You know that…"

He lunged forward, kissing her hard upon lips. His arms wrapped around her, pressing her close to him, clutching her body with the strength of a drowning man. "I want this," he said. "I want you."

Closing her eyes, Shira kissed him, and all at once, the wind caught them in its embrace, swirling the grass around them. For a moment, she imagined that this might be the best freedom she had ever known, the feeling of being imprisoned in this man's arms, the urgency of his lips against hers. Their bodies sunk down amidst the grass, becoming just two small forms upon the broad, darkening plain. She knew it was wrong, that she was making an impulsive mistake, and yet the thought was not enough.


	7. Mind Games

Chapter 7: Mind Games

_Interrogation Room 2-B. There wasn't much to it. A claustrophobic room, a single, staring lightbulb and a tub of water. The Jedi, prisoner 164, kneeled in front of the white tub, hands tied behind her back. A Force-restricting visor was fastened like a mock crown on her head. _

"_What are you waiting for?" Jaq said. "Push her in." _

_Lemos seemed to hesitate for a second. Then, pressing his hands, the weight of his body down on the Jedi's back and head, he held her face under the water._

_Jaq stared at the long ruts of purplish acne that spattered the sides of Lemos' boyish face and counted time in his head. "Okay, 30 seconds. Let her up. We're going to start her out easy."_

_The Jedi raised her head out of the tub, drawing a deep breath. She kept her eyes sealed shut as water dripped down her face and from the ends of her light hair._

"_Have a nice drink of water, 164?" Jaq asked. "We thought you might be thirsty."_

_Prisoner 164 didn't answer except with the slow, steady rhythm of her breath and the quick pulse of her heart. _

"_Give her another sip."_

_Jaq watched as Lemos submerged the Jedi's head underwater again and again at his command. Each time he increased the interval by five seconds more, counting, counting, counting the numbers down in his head. The Jedi's legs flailed, her back arched and each time as she rose for air, he could hear her wheezing, sputtering, spitting water, gasping to fill her lungs with another desperate breath. She would crack. He would save her with pain and show her the meaning of Revan's strength before she would "save" him with pity. _

_One minute and thirty seconds. He'd give her the last chance to save herself and if she was smart, she'd seize it. _

"_Okay, back off her," he said to Lemos. _

_Lemos untangled his hands from the prisoner's hair and obediently stepped aside to watch the interrogation. The entire front of his uniform and the sleeves of his jacket were drenched with water. For a second, Jaq imagined the recruit as a reptile, a Hssiss perhaps, with those dark, water-slick clothes and that scarred, scaled face._

_Prisoner 164 leaned against the side of the tub, gasping. Water dribbled out of her nose and mouth. She wore a necklace of bruises, some purple, grey or blue, some faded to a sickly greenish-yellow._

_Jaq crouched down beside her. "Let me untie your hands. Those binds must hurt. I never was very good at tying knots." He sliced at the ropes with a Rodian dagger. The blade gnawed at the tightly wound fibres. "Now don't try anything funny, 164. Remember I'm still armed to the teeth."_

_Lemos stared at him. "What are you doing?"_

_Jaq ignored him and continued speaking quietly to the prisoner. "I'm armed, but that guy over there? The one who had so much fun half-drowning you? He isn't." He paused for a second, watching the Jedi's eyes train themselves upon Lemos._

"_I'll give you this dagger," Jaq said. "I'll let you kill him. No one will stop you."_

_Prisoner 164 stared at Lemos, the dagger cradled in her freckled hand._

"_You – you can't do this!" Lemos shouted. "I'm a recruit!"_

_Jaq stepped back from the prisoner. His hand was on the blaster in its holster but his face was calm, almost amused._

"_No, you were a recruit. You failed the test. We have no use for you."_

_Prisoner 164 stood up with the dagger curled in her fist. Her eyes were still focused on Lemos. "Why? Why did you choose this?" she asked._

_Lemos scowled. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Jedi. Try and kill me. See what it will get you."_

"_I won't," she answered. She opened fingers and let the dagger drop. It clattered against the hard floor in front of her. "Leave. Now."_

_Lemos started to scurry towards the door. His hand was on the knob when the beams from Jaq's blaster mowed him down._

"_We like to keep our standards high in this division. If you'd offed him, you would've been doing us a favour," Jaq said, replacing his blaster in its holster. "You should have at least tried to kill me when you had the chance. You won't be getting another."_

_She turned towards him, wet hair hanging limply around her face. "You're a Force-sensitive. Did you know that? It's what makes you so – good at your job."_

"_No. It's all pure love of breaking Jedi. That's what gets me up in the morning. I'm going to enjoy killing you, 164. If you're smart, you join with Revan's power and refuse me the chance."_

"_It won't take long before the Sith realize what you are," she continued. "And when they do, they'll bring you back to this room. They'll sit you in that interrogation chair. They don't share power but they'll find a use for you."_

_He stepped closer to her, wrapping his hands around her throat. "I wish all the Jedi had just a single neck for me to throttle. But I guess I'll have to settle for killing you one at time."_

_He began to squeeze._



Atton watched the lightsabers clash together and whirl apart, one a fiery orange-red and the other violet-blue. Each time the powerful beams struck, they seemed to hiss at one another. Shira parried Visas' attack, her body coiled, cat-like, in preparation for her opponent's next move.

Visas tried to strike again, but this time Shira dodged her blade and made a counter-attack of her own. All the while, the lightsabers danced with deadly allure between the fighters, almost causing him to forget that they were weapons made to slice limbs, to kill more quickly and efficiently than virtually anything else.

His dreams had been getting worse – more life-like, more vivid, more immediate. Sometimes he woke up convinced that he was actually in the barracks instead of the dormitory or the Ebon Hawk's cockpit. He played pazaak in his head like a man possessed, he helped Bao-Dur work on Remote, he read data-pads full of month-old galactic news, all just to get the thoughts out of his head. But when he slept, all the barriers he'd erected toppled down. All at once, names, numbers, faces came swarming in upon him. The bodies mounted up around him.

And then of course, there was the situation with Shira, which had become even more difficult, more_ complicated_ after that one evening on Dantooine. They barely spoke, but he could feel her eyes upon him when he wasn't looking at her. He didn't know what to say. It had happened. He didn't have anything else to offer her and he couldn't imagine what she could expect from him. She has a lightsaber now, he thought and a wry smile spread across his face. She's got a lightsaber, so why would she want my old vibroblade?

"Good fight," Shira said to Visas, as she switched off her saber. "You're improving at Juyo form. It seems to be the one I have most trouble with too."

"Thank you for your patience with me," the Miraluka answered. Her voice was as soft as ever, showing no hint of the intense determination and competitiveness she revealed when she fought. "My life for yours."

Atton felt a shiver run through his body each time Visas said those words in that silvery voice. My life for yours. Yes, he knew all about the way lives were exchanged, bartered for, sacrificed, turned into symbols or statements. Prisoner 164. Her life for mine, he thought.

He called up the pazaak deck in his head. _6 plus the 5 card. Hit me_.

"Visas, please don't say that," Shira said. "I think we're friends now… I hope."

"In my culture, it is a means of conveying respect," Visas replied. "I meant you no offense."

_11 plus the 8 card. Change the sign on the -/+ 1 card. Lay it down. 20. _

Shira shook her head. "You didn't offend me. I just want to you to know that I'm not expecting you to sacrifice yourself for me in any way. You don't owe me anything."

"I owe you my life."

_Opponent. 3 plus the 2 card. Hit me. 5 plus the 9 card. Hit me._

"You have no debt. Your life is your own, Visas."

_14 plus the 9 card. He's over. Don't waste a hand card on this one, buddy._

Visas bowed her head and silently slunk out of the training room.

"How have you been?" Shira's back was turned to him but her voice sounded strained.

"I'm alright, I guess," Atton said. "How are you? You fought well."

_New set. 5 plus the 7 card. Hit me. 12 plus the 4 card. 16._

"I'm not good at talking about stuff like this, Atton. I haven't had much practice. I'm sure you can tell."

_16 with three good hand cards. I'll risk it. Hit me._

"I enjoyed myself. I like to think you did too."

_16 plus 1. Try again. Hit me. _

"I did," she said, turning to face him with a sad smile. "I think it was what we needed at the time. I know it made you angry when I said I cared for you, but I do. I care for you. You can hate me for it if you want."

He looked at her, feeling his jaw clenched, his head ache. He heard the dagger drop in Interrogation Room 2-A. "I don't."

"I'm glad you don't," she said. "That's all I could want."

He watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked away.

_17 plus 8. Lay down the -5 card. _

_20._

My life. For yours.


	8. A Golden Cruiser

Chapter 8: A Golden Cruiser

"This is it," he said. "My old apartment. Nice-lookin' piece of real estate, huh?"

Shira stared at a rusted-out shell of a cargo hold covered in graffiti.

"Serrocco Forever," she read aloud from the side of the wall. She smiled at Atton. "Yeah, it's…something alright."

"Well it wasn't all that bad when I actually lived here. But now that they've busted the lock, I can't make you any promises." Atton pushed the hold's sliding door. It didn't budge.

Grunting with frustration, he tried again.

"The damn thing must have rusted up."

His body straining and his jaw clenched, he pressed on it with all his weight. Finally the door slid open.

The main room was furnished with a torn mattress and a broken wooden chair that lay on its side, legs floundering in the air. Pieces of wrecked machinery and shards of glass lay strewn across the concrete floor.

Something crunched beneath Shira's boot. She lifted her foot and realized that she'd just stepped on an empty stim vial.

Atton stood in the middle of this chaos, his face aghast. "Damn it! Schutta! I knew somebody was going to take it."

"Take what?"

"My cruiser."

Shira raised an eyebrow. "You kept a cruiser in here?! That explains a lot."

"No. A gold cruiser. A trophy. It was something I got a while back," Atton said. He rummaged around the mattress, muttering curses under his breath.

A twinge of terrible certainty shot through Shira's body. She didn't know if it was the Force or her own instincts prompting her, but all at once, she was sure. He's not who he says he is, she thought. Those two scummy-looking twileks had seemed unreliable at first, just a couple of lowlifes looking to make a few easy credits, but their words had gnawed at her thoughts all day. I can't believe that I let him touch me, she thought. I can't believe I let him kiss me with lips that only tell lies, that I let him strip off my robe with hands covered in blood. Involuntarily, she remembered how tender he'd seemed as they lay in the grass after making love on Dantooine. How he'd smiled at her, brushing a lazy hand through her dark hair. She'd savored the slow drawl of his voice, the tickle of his breath on her ear, as he'd whispered, "This is a good dream. I don't think I want to wake up. Let's just stay here and ignore the rest of the galaxy." Closing her eyes, she had almost agreed with him as he'd kissed the nape of her neck, as the last light of the sun had streamed down upon them.

It doesn't matter, she thought. It was a mistake. He's a stranger – no, worse than a stranger: he's a liar and a murderer, and he's stretched his con as far as it can go.

Atton looked up from his search, eyeing her face with a puzzled expression. "Somethin' up? You look like you're going to be sick or something. I hope ol' Geriel's so-called 'plague' isn't catching."

"Atton, I met some friends of your today," she said.

"Yeah? What kind of friends? In case you haven't noticed, a lot of my 'friends' aren't too friendly."

"They were friendly enough after I gave them a few credits. They didn't seem too fond of you though."

Atton's mind flashed to the two twileks they'd passed in the quarter. He'd noticed them whispering to Shira but he'd hoped they were simply trying to get rid of some old pazaak cards. After all, he barely knew them except to recognize their smarmy green faces as they walked in the cantina or went reeling out of it or stood lurking around in some back alley, doing Force knows what shady business. His time on Nar Shaddaa had made him surprisingly perceptive, even when he was nursing his eighth juma of the night. After all, it always helps to know the ugly mug of the sentient trying to screw you.

I'll try and play it off as the result of a gambling debt, he thought. She already knows too much about that.

But his obfuscations and denials didn't work. She kept asking questions. She kept watching him. Like an interrogator. He imagined himself back in Room 2-B, but this time he was sitting in the chair, just as 164 had predicted. And even though Shira didn't have Jaq Rand's talent, his tricks or his training, somehow truths kept pouring out of Atton like blood seeping from a wound. He told her about the Wars, about the allure of Revan's forces, about the thrill he'd felt each time he broke a Jedi's mind or body. He told her about 164, and the terrible gift of life and the Force she had given him through her death. He kept talking, plunging deeper and deeper, losing hold of Atton and coming back to black old Jaq.

And finally, when it was all over, when he had laid his past out like a corpse on a cold morgue table, he did an inexplicable thing. A stupid, suicidal thing guaranteed to get him killed, but somehow once it was said, he didn't regret it.

"Once a Jedi showed me the Force – I heard it, I felt it," he told her. His throat felt raw. It hurt to breathe. "At the time, there was too much pain to confront it – because if I did, it meant I would be changed into something else. Now I'm not afraid of it anymore."

He bit the inside of his lower lip, his eyes fastened on Shira's face. He'd always been good at reading people's eyes, the way they flickered over a hand card or lingered on the deck, but he couldn't interpret her expression. Could she forgive him or did she plan to mow him down with that lightsaber of hers and leave his body here with the rest of the trash? He knew he should feel alarmed at the thought, but he just felt numb.

"And I think that by learning how to use it - I can help protect you," he continued. "Or at least buy you some time when disaster comes screaming in. I want to learn how to use the Force. I want to learn how to use the Force to help you."

He never imagined himself volunteering to be anyone's student, protector or human shield, but Visas' words kept echoing in his mind – My life for yours. My life for yours. A voice so serene, so feather-light, and yet one laden with the death of a planet. A voice drained of all hopeless desire, wishing only for the last beautiful inevitability. You always win when you're playing the game to lose, he thought.

Exhausted with the weight of his words, he sat down on the old mattress and let his head rest in the hands that had strangled 164. He didn't want to think anymore. All he could think about was how much it hurt to breathe.

Shira stood in front of him, her arms folded over her body as she tried to stop herself from screaming, from crying, from beating him with her hands, from clasping him in her arms.

And then she felt it, more strongly than she had in years – the Force emanating around her, around him, around the whole frantic, frenetic mass of Nar Shaddaa. The energy came to her like a wail, a sound at once inhuman and so terribly human for a moment she wondered if it might have come from her own throat.

"Do you feel that?" she asked him. "Do you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled.

"Close your eyes, Atton. I know that you can feel the Force around us now. We're in the eye of the storm. This is your first lesson."

She watched as Atton's heavy eyelids lowered. His quick, short breaths seemed to batter his chest like angry fists.

Shira gathered more words and continued softly, slowly. "I need to believe that in spite of everything we've done, all the horror we've made in our wars, we can come back to the Force. I need to believe that we can heal somehow, even if there are scars underneath the skin."

She sat down beside Atton on the mattress and guided him through his first meditation, invoking 164's sacrifice as a model of the ideal love of a Jedi. As she said the words, she couldn't help but secretly envy 164 the strength of her convictions. I don't think I would have withstood the torture, she thought. She'd already surrendered to the enticements of pleasure so easily. How would she have pushed on through the pain? She wondered how many Jedi could have taken 164's path, with or without the gentle admonishments of the Code. Where does such compassion come from? She spoke to him of love and sacrifice, but the words themselves felt awkward in her mouth. The cold morning light of a Jedi's 'love' had never been enough for her and all the sacrifices she'd made always felt like retreat and surrender. They were too easy, useless, never selfless or pure in the way she'd imagined they would be.

She spoke until she could see his breathing start to slow and the tension in his jaw began to ease. When she finished guiding him, she reached forward and wrapped her small hand around his large one. It was the best she could do.

He opened his eyes with a start. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to forgive you, Atton. I hope you'll do the same for me."

His fingers laced tightly between hers. The leather of his gloves was smooth and dry against her palm. "I do. I have. You were part of some horrible things in the Wars, but you're not me, Shira. I enjoyed the killing. I enjoyed the power."

"It isn't a contest," she said. "I don't want to compare motivations or body counts. It's ugly, no matter what, no matter why."

"So this is my place," Atton said, gesturing at the junk on the floor with his free hand.

He gave a sad chuckle. "Since we've decided to nix the whole dishonesty thing, I'll admit I made some of this mess myself."

"And the trophy?"

"Really does exist. It's somewhere on this blasted slug-hole of a moon. Although it's pretty hard to complain about burglary when you live in a city that describes itself as 'a den of thieves' on its tourism brochures."

"Nar Shaddaa has tourism?"

"The Red Light District used to have some crazy thrills," Atton said, grinning. "Speaking of which, now that you're on my old bed, maybe we could -"

"Atton, I'm your teacher now."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to get used to that. I'm not used to teachers being pretty. All the ones I had in school looked like the back-end of a boma beast."

She laughed, feeling gratified by compliment even as she sensed it was wrong. "Insulting your old teachers isn't the way to the Light Side, you know."

"I'm on whatever side you're on, 'Master'," he joked.

But part of him knew that it wasn't a joke, that now, somehow, he would follow her even into the depths if she asked him. Killing again would not be unthinkable for him if she could justify it. He had come to love her quietly, desperately, inexplicably, the way other men love the air in their lungs or the blood in their veins, even though he had renounced love a long time ago. He would be her student and she would train him. Each day he would be able to watch that familiar face grow in radiance, in serenity, in strange, ineffable beauty as she attained greater understanding of the Force. He couldn't imagine that for himself, but he felt as though a burden had fallen away him. He would learn what he could and he would live upon her presence, her sudden, wonderful nearness to him. It would be enough because it had to be. Because it was all he had left.

He wondered where the golden cruiser had gone, who'd taken it. If he wasn't with Shira and the Hawk, he knew he would have tracked all over the city, buying drinks and busting heads until he'd found it. Since he was a kid, he must have traced the inscription a thousand times with his fingers: "To Atton Rand: For Outstanding Achievement in Republic Flight Training, Gold Level." His brother's trophy. He couldn't help wondering what Atton would have thought of it all.


	9. Bad Education

Chapter 9: Bad Education

Mical spoke in a low, fervent whisper, his face animated with the pleasure of expertise. When he was remembering the past it was as though he could forget the reserve and the duties that seemed to burden him so much in the present. Imagining the virtues, the valor and the endless struggles of the old Jedi was enough to enliven his fine-featured face and turn a healer who measured out his words in careful doses into a storyteller.

"Although she was by this time an old woman, Matta Tremayne was a tremendously talented duelist. She was reportedly so devoted to her craft that she would spend whole days alone, practicing a single cadence until the air around her seemed to glow as blue as her lightsaber. As strong as he was in the Force, Freedon Nadd could never have killed her unless she had purposely let down her defenses, unless she had been trying to convey a message about his pride and where it might lead. The duel had been a test and when, in his rage, he seized the opportunity to strike the killing blow against the master, he failed that test."

The teacher becomes the martyr. It figures, Shira thought. After all, Jedi can't just sit their students down and discuss a problem like rational people. "So this is when he fell to the Dark Side? I have to admit that I find Tremayne and the Council's tactics… " She had to pause and rummage through her vocabulary for a diplomatic word. Manipulative? Thoughtless? Cruel? "I find them distasteful," she said.

Mical frowned, obviously displeased at her lack of admiration for Tremayne's sacrifice. "Freedon Nadd would have agreed with you. He blamed the Council and his anger against them only increased. He refused to take responsibility for the murder and even though he grieved to see a Master dead, he resented Tremayne for the test she had devised. He could have turned back to the Light even after her death, but he refused to admit -"

"Hey, you wanted to see me?" Atton's voice cut through the stale air of the cargo bay, now serving as a make-shift training room.

She knew this was going to be awkward. She'd estimated that he wouldn't be able to pry himself away from pazaak with Mira for at least another hour, enough time for her to arrange for Mical to be somewhere else. But leave it to Atton to be early on the one day when he's supposed to show up late, she thought.

Atton strolled by the seated forms of Visas and Bao-Dur, both meditating but with widely varying degrees of success. On the way, Shira caught him shooting Bao a quizzical glance, knowing full well that he was being a distraction to the already struggling tech. The class clown never dies, she thought.

"By the way, Shira, I've gotta say, you really have a way of making a guy feel special," Atton smirked. "When I said I'd give this thing a try, I didn't figure you were going to invite everybody on the ship into your super-exclusive Jedi club. I guess the big question now is, how are you going to find a Jedi robe to fit G0-T0?"

"In light of recent circumstances, the Jedi have had to lower their standards considerably," Mical said, eyeing the pilot.

"Yeah, I'll bet. So, Teach, what's the lesson of the day? Is it going to be as much wholesome fun as memorizing the Jedi Code?"

Shira turned to Mical. "Do you still have that datapad on you?"

It was a stupid question. Of course he did. He never stopping writing Force knows what in it. Probably just a diary, Shira thought. Mical seemed like the type who would chronicle everything he ate for breakfast.

Atton raised an eyebrow. "Data-pad? I hate to complain, but I was kind of hoping for a lightsaber."

Mical reached under the lapel of his robe and extracted the data-pad, handing it over to her with obvious hesitation.

"Don't worry," Shira said. "I won't break it."

She held the data-pad in the palm of her hand, concentrating on the flow of the Force around her body. She knew the object would move with the Force's power, just as driftwood was swept up in the strength of a tide.

The data-pad wafted up in the air a foot above her hand. In the mood to show off, she spun it in a slow circle before she allowed it to lower back down into her hand.

"Telekinesis," Mical said.

"Well, I know you can do it," Shira said.

She gave sly smile and offered the datapad to Atton. "What I want now is to see him give it a try."

Mical looked ready to protest. "I don't think that's a –"

"Why not? How hard can it be if you can do it?" Atton replied, snatching the device out of Shira's hand.

He laid the data-pad flat on his palm, gazing at it with such intensity that Shira thought she could spot a vein bulging at the side of his forehead. This determined stare continued for one agonizing minute. With every passing second, the humiliation of failure was more clearly written across the pilot's face. The data-pad didn't budge.

Mical sidled closer to her, whispering in her ear, "Are you sure about…this? I don't feel any signs of the Force around him. In fact, it's strange but I can barely sense his presence through the Force at all. It's as though he's a…blank."

"Be patient," Shira answered. "He can do it."

She glanced at Atton. Their whispers had been too loud. She knew he had heard them.

Atton's brow furrowed and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He glared at the data-pad in his hand and suddenly it surged forward, hurtling through the air.

It hit Mical square between the eyes and then dropped like a stone, smashing against the metal floor.

Bao-Dur's eyes shot open at the clatter but Visas was as still and silent as ever, her mind fixed on destruction far greater than any crime perpetrated against a data-pad or Mical's dignity.

The healer took in a sharp breath, his hand rising to touch the livid red welt on his forehead. He stared down at the broken data-pad in horror.

"Mical!" Shira gasped.

"I'm fine," Mical's voice was uncharacteristically curt. "My data-pad, however, is not."

"We'll get you another data-pad," she said, laying a hand on the healer's shoulder. "I think _someone_, some philanthropist around here, will offer the credits from his pazaak winnings to purchase you a new one."

Atton's face betrayed neither surprise nor dismay. The dark eyes that just moments ago had smoldered with rage were now vacant, cloudy, expressionless.

"It was an accident," he muttered. "I guess I didn't know my own strength. I'll hand over credits for a replacement if you want them."

Mical's lips pressed in a thin, straight line. "It wasn't the data-pad that mattered. I have any number of data-pads. It was my work that mattered. Keep your ill-gotten credits. I don't need them."

"Work, huh?" Atton sneered. "What kind of work? Something special for your Republic pals?"

"What are you talking about now?" Shira asked. "I think you'd better go center yourself. I'm not going to teach you anything when you're like this."

Sometimes she wondered why she was teaching him at all. She knew he had talent, a potential that sometimes startled her, but he seemed entirely content to squander it. Instead, he swaggered around cracking jokes about the Code and disturbing anyone else who might possibly want to learn. During training sessions, she'd caught the whiff of juma on his breath more than once. She wanted to believe that he could change and that somehow, she could help him, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that he wasn't interested in helping himself. Sometimes she wondered if she only made things worse.

"Oh, c'mon, we all know there's something up with him," Atton protested. "He just happened to be hanging around the Enclave at the right time to meet us? It's a set-up."

"I believe you also have a theory that T-3 stole the ship on Telos?" Mical said. "It's obvious that you suffer from severe paranoia. But I suppose that when one is so very untrustworthy himself, it must be quite difficult to trust others."

Bao-Dur gave a low chuckle from his place in the corner.

What a relief to have one reasonable person on this ship, Shira thought. At least there's one person around who's sane enough to be able to laugh at the rest of us.

Atton scowled at Bao. "Hey, I thought you were on my side with this!"

"I'm not on any side," the zabrak answered in his usual patient tone. "I just thought Mical made a pretty good point."

Mical didn't seem to savor his victory. He bent down and collected the broken data-pad. "I'll be in the med bay," he said. "Unless someone's hurt, please don't disturb me."

"That's fine," Shira said. "I'm sorry about your lost work, Mical."

"I don't think you'd feel so sorry if you knew what it was," Atton muttered. He cast a suspicious eye on the back of Mical's blonde head as the healer walked away. "I have a bad feeling about that kid."

"You'd have bad feelings about him no matter what he was doing," Bao-Dur said. "Now be quiet. I'm trying to meditate here."

"Yeah, yeah, good luck with that," Atton scoffed. "You'd have better luck if you could build a droid to do it for you."

Bao-Dur smiled. "That's not such a bad idea."

Shira threw her hands up in exasperation. "Great. One student who uses datapads as bloody weapons and another one who wants to get his droids to do his Jedi training. The Sith don't stand a chance."

Since she'd started training Jedi, she was beginning to have a lot more sympathy for Master Vrook.


	10. The Last Temptation of Korriban

Chapter 10: The Last Temptation of Korriban

Shira entered the last chamber of the tomb confident that the worst was over. Her body was bruised and battered, her mind wracked by the horror of the visions the crypt had presented to her, but she was still standing. Now it was simply a matter of clearing one more room, scavenging any useful items she could find and following the hidden passage back to Mical and T-3 in the cave.

The room was dark and rectangular with a small dais in the center. A datapad lay on the platform near a scattering of bones, the yellowed remains of shyrack and human mingled in the moldering pile.

Shira hesitated for a moment, then picked up the datapad and read its message. It told a sad story but one that fit well with her own experience of the strange tomb. The visions had warped the fallen Jedi's mind as they had scarred hers.

The staring red eyes of a hssiss appeared before her, as she had anticipated. She lunged at the reptile with her lightsaber, slicing at its scaly head.

The hssiss recoiled from the fierce beam and snapped at her with its jaws, just missing her arm.

She struck it again and again, aiming quick blows at its sides and back.

Hissing at her, the creature swiped at her right shoulder, cutting through the sleeve of her robe and rending flesh. There was pain, but it was dulled by the adrenalin rushing through her body, the joy of her lightsaber rushing through the air.

She curved her arm back and struck the hssiss between the eyes with a powerful swing of her weapon. The massive beast keeled over at her feet, his body stirring up a thick cloud of dust from the tomb floor.

Shira coughed, and her hand pressed against the wound on her shoulder, staunching the slow trickle of blood. It wasn't too deep. The pain would go away soon enough.

She was fluent in the language of pain, reading its marks like hieroglyphics scrawled across her body. It had become music to her, a desperate symphony driven by the urgent beating of her own heart.

Aside from bones and hssiss, she thought, this room doesn't seem to have much to offer me. She sidestepped the hssiss' corpse and started moving out of the room towards the main passage. She was looking forward to seeing Mical and T-3 and receiving reassurance that her companions weren't actually set on killing her.

"Shira."

She reeled around and saw Atton leaning against the platform. He was looking better, more rested than when she'd last spoken to him on the ship. He actually seemed to have combed his hair and slept in a real bed instead of just dozing off in the pilot's seat. For some reason, he was bare-chested, revealing several bandages criss-crossed over a lean, sinewy torso.

She remembered seeing him like that once before on the ship. He'd been sitting alone in the starboard dormitory, tending to his own wounds because he'd gotten it into his crazy head that he didn't want Mical helping him. She caught a glimpse of him in that moment, so suddenly vulnerable, and her breath had caught in her throat. She'd immediately ducked back into the shadows, all too aware of the guilty blood surging through her veins and rising shamefully to her cheeks.

If she'd been smart, she would have demanded that he march straight over to the medical bay and get himself fixed up properly. That was what a real Master would have done. Instead, she'd darted away like a thief down a back alley, feeling a rush of adrenalin thrill through her.

She had run from the sight, but it had come back. It always comes back, she thought.

"These visions are getting stranger and stranger, imaginary Atton," she said with an exhausted sigh. "If you're planning to try and kill me like you did in that last vision, you'd better put a shirt on first."

"It's distracting… for the mining droids, right?" he smirked.

"I didn't know cave visions came with a sense of humour."

"Who says I'm a vision? Come over here and you can find out how real I am."

She took a few tentative steps toward him, circling around the dead hssiss.

"You're very convincing," she said. "Maybe even better than the real thing. Too bad this is all in my head."

"Closer still," he coaxed her. "I promise I won't bite."

"Even if you do, it won't mean anything," she said, inching towards him. "You're not real. You don't have teeth."

Suddenly he launched forward and caught her in his arms. His searching lips found hers. It was the same kiss they'd shared on Dantooine, a powerful insistent connection that sent jabs of desire through her body. He loomed over her, his arms encircling her like a prison of flesh. She shut her eyes, inhaling the spicy traces of juma and sweat still lingering on his skin.

How was it so real? Surely even the much-vaunted power of the dark side couldn't simulate the taste of his mouth, the grasp of his hands that well, she thought. But even as the idea came to her, she knew that it was fatal to underestimate the ancient Sith or their ability to penetrate into the minds of even the most resolute Jedi. And she knew that when it came to Atton, she wasn't the most resolute of Jedi.

Atton pulled back to look at her, relaxing his grip around her waist. "Was that real enough for you, sweetheart, or do you want to try again?"

Her hands trembled. She tried to wriggle free of his arms. "You're a vision and the real Atton is my student. Nothing more, nothing less. The only kiss I experienced was one I remembered from a long time ago."

Hands hooked around her, he held on to her squirming body. "I'm going to keep you here until you listen to me. I know a way for us to have what we want."

She stopped struggling and glared up at him, her gaze an unspoken challenge. "What is it exactly that _we _want?"

He stroked her hair lightly with his hand as though she were a child who needed comforting. "Don't play innocent now. I know you feel it, too. Give up your Code, Shira, and this can only make us stronger. You can't fight it anymore than I can. You know I want you. I would give up my life for you if you asked me."

Her eyes stung with the tears she would not cry and her parched lips burned with the kisses she could not enjoy. "You may want me, but you don't love me. If you loved me, you would never be so selfish. I'm a Jedi. I don't possess anything or anyone - least of all, you."

She tried to calm herself and connect back to the Force, but it was like an echo sounding in distant rooms. It had betrayed her now, when she needed it most.

Looking into his eyes, she saw her own image lurking in the ominous depths of his pupils, a prisoner bound.

"I've already seen darkness in you," she whispered. "I've tried to deny it, but I know that just a few missteps could take you back to that place."

"You don't get it, do you?" Atton growled.

He let go of her waist, recoiling in disgust. "I don't give a damn about your 'dark side' or your 'light side'. All I see is you. And all I know is that if you keep pretending that I'm only your student, if you keep standing there telling me you don't want me, you're going to kill me someday. Maybe today."

Shira stumbled away from him, almost tripping over the dead hssiss. "You don't mean that. The dark side is what would kill you. If we were together in that way, we might have passion, we might have power, but we'd have hate and fear and jealousy too. We'd rot from the inside out. The dark side promises so much, but believe me, Atton, it will steal it all away."

"And what's your precious light side gonna get me?" he scoffed. "I can poison my liver slowly with juma, watching you, waiting for you, or I can turn into a block of ice and die while I'm still breathing."

His hand darted into his belt, withdrawing an Arkanian heavy pistol. He spun it quickly, adeptly, around his fingers in mimicry of a sharpshooter. It was a party trick he'd performed for her many times before, a vain flourish, but this time it came with an ugly twist.

Atton slowly drew the pistol up towards his head. He pressed the muzzle so hard against his temple that she could see a circular red mark beginning to form upon the skin.

A sardonic smile played around the edge of his lips.

"I'm not a patient man. I don't want a slow death. I don't love life, but I loved you enough to hold on to it for a while."

"Please, don't do this." Tears seared down her cheeks, blazing over her skin like the tails of comets. "I've loved you! I still do. Against my own will, against everything I was taught to believe. Damn it! Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy? I'd give up the Force again to have you, to stop being so alone."

She sighed, wiping the back of her hand across her wet cheek. The gash on her shoulder was bleeding, the wound open like screaming mouth.

"It kills me too," she murmured. "Little by little, every day."

Her only reward was his terrible, triumphant smile.

"Good," he said.

The pistol fired, its shot jolting through her body, seeming to split her skull in two.

The vision melted before Shira's eyes, a mist taunting her with its slow dissipation.

She stood alone in a dark rectangular room containing a freshly killed hssiss and the bones of a fallen Jedi.

And she sobbed, knowing that it had been her last test, a final temptation, and that she had failed.


	11. Possession

Chapter 11: Possession

Atton switched on the yellow lightsaber and whirled it around in a quick figure-eight motion. He'd always considered himself the kind of guy who fought with blasters and since he was a kid, he'd prided himself on being a precise shot, but he had to admit that he liked the new 'saber. Sometimes when he thought no one was looking, he'd turn it on just to watch the bright beam materialize and practice a few strikes, savoring the sound of it singing through the air.

He'd spent much of his time on Korriban on the ship and secret lightsaber practice had become just about the most interesting part of his daily routine. The planet was having an effect on everyone, making people more prone to fight, more dissatisfied with living together in very little space, but he knew that Shira was most anxious for him and Visas. She claimed that she just wanted them to take time to train, to center themselves and practice lightsaber techniques. Nevertheless, it was obvious she worried that old Sith habits might die hard on Korriban; that in fact, such instincts might kill, if given the chance.

He didn't mind getting some time to experiment with his new weapon. Having a lightsaber in his possession almost made up for the time he had to waste listening to all that Jedi hocus-pocus about obliterating desire, basically turning oneself into a second-rate droid and taking away everything that made life worth living.

Sometimes when Shira spoke these words, he could almost see something beautiful and admirable in the ancient ways of the Masters, but he knew that their momentary appeal rested mainly in her excitement, in glistening eyes, the pearl-like sheen of smooth skin, in dark hair he wanted to feel between his fingers, in the very passions he was supposed to be renouncing. When he heard Mical repeat the same sentiments about peace, harmony and knowledge, they seemed complacent and contemptible.

Atton slashed his lightsaber through the air and then assumed a defensive posture, parrying invisible attacks from an imaginary opponent.

You're a big hero, Rand, he thought. Always fighting people who aren't there.

He heard somebody stomping along the corridor and immediately identified the offending feet as Mira's. The girl could be remarkably sneaky when she was in business mode, but on her days off, she tramped around the ship like a rondo in a pair of big black boots.

He switched off the lightsaber and sheathed it in his belt.

Mira poked her head into the workshop. "Where's Bao?"

"Mira, anyone ever tell you you've got charming manners?"

"Sure, but only at the point of a blaster," Mira grinned, revealing tiny, slightly pointed teeth. "Now if you'd answer my damned question, I'd let you get back to playing with your lightsaber."

"I thought you were a bounty hunter. Go find him yourself, sister. Since when am I the big authority on that gearhead?"

"Yeah, you're right. We all know you only have eyes for one person in this ship and she isn't big, grey and good with droids."

Atton scowled. Nar Shaddaa women are all the same, he thought. Suspicious, angry and always, always watching a man for a skifter or a dagger in the back.

"I think you should stop smoking so much spice."

"Yeah, well, I think you should stop playing Jedi. You may be able to trick Shira and her crew of easy marks but I know your game and so does the old witch."

"And what makes you think that I'm faking anything?" he said. "What do you know about being a Jedi?"

"You don't need to be a Jedi to know what it means when a man looks at a woman like that," Mira answered. "Don't get me wrong, it's kind of cute watching you follow her around like a pet gizka and all, but I know your type."

"My type? And what type is that?"

"The type that skulks around every low-rent dive on the Outer Rim," she said. "Oh, I have lots of experience with guys like you. You have 'issues' and so you figure it gives you the right to do whatever you want, consequence-free."

"You don't know me."

Mira's lips curled into a wry half-smile. "You see? That's exactly what they would say, too."

She tramped triumphantly out of the room.

Atton listened to the clatter of her boots upon the ship's floor and heard her distant shout as she discovered Bao in the cargo hold where he'd been welding wall reinforcements for the past hour. When he was sure she was gone, he reached for the lightsaber and switched it on.

The beam unfurled before him like an extension of his arm, a stinging bright yellow. He practiced his attacks, feeling the Force like a gust of wind at his back.

He envisioned Shira's face smiling at him, her hand wrapped around his, forgiving him. The beam became more solid, keener as it whirred through the air.

He pictured her body entangled with his as they lay upon the warm earth of Dantoine, the grass swaying gently around them.

He executed a quick spin of the blade, feeling power, anger, aching desire surge through him.

His mind lingered on her, but this time she was speaking to the other students, Visas, Bao-Dur, Mical, but not to him. Her hand fell lightly on Mical's shoulder as she praised his commitment to the Jedi Code.

The lightsaber seemed to dance around his body, carving his rage upon the still air.

His hands gripped the lightsaber so tightly his knuckles turned white.

As the blade sang around him, he remembered the feeling of his hands crushing Prisoner 164's throat.

Her eyes gaped in terror but her lips seemed to smile sadly, to mouth words at him that could never be spoken. _The light always wins_, she seemed to say. And all at once, he'd felt the Force crash over him like a tremendous wave, more powerfully than he felt it even now, with lightsaber in hand.

He'd known 164's agony, her terrible love in a moment more intimate than anything he'd ever shared with a woman before.

Suddenly, he had felt shackles like veins spreading from his body to hers and even further outward, to the dying prisoners in other rooms and to the men and women who killed them, to the new recruits in the barracks, to the people walking in the road beyond. He could sense them all around him, presences, images, emotions too quick and too powerful to be processed or understood. And he'd felt her love for each little life that glimmered before their shared sight, her love that reached out trembling hands even to her own murderer as he clutched her throat.

It was love that no one could deserve, that no one could earn, love that could only be given as a gift or as a last desperate sacrifice.

As he remembered, the lightsaber seemed to become a pillar of fire before him.

His hands had held fast to her throat, granting her last wish.

She had not fallen. She had died before each of those flickering candles of love could be snuffed out.

He'd felt her death inside himself and imagined the death and burial of Jaq Rand within her broken body. But that was a fantasy, a nice dream. He knew Jaq was still alive in that darkened room, just where he'd left him. Black old Jaq was banging his fists against the walls, cursing and pleading, threatening and cajoling, using all his best tricks and laughing like a maniac at the bones that barred his prison. Jaq Rand was still there, still angry, and he wanted out.

When he could no longer feel a pulse fluttering against the papery skin of her throat, he'd slowly relaxed his grip, his eyes trained upon her still face. Unblinking eyes stared up at him, the startling whites shot through with red blood vessels.

In his memory, the face was not her own. Gone were the care-lined features browned by the sun, the determined jaw, the tired eyes, the staunch, attractive plainness.

No, the dead face that stared up at him was Shira's and it was moon-pale as death itself should be.

His lightsaber slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a sickening crack, the sound of the door to Interrogation Room 2-B slamming behind him. The yellow beam extinguished itself.

For a second, panic stabbed through his mind. He imagined that he was back in the barracks, that he needed to escape before they discovered the truth or tortured it out of him. Every muscle in his body was twitching, urging him to run for his life, but he knew he would have to saunter along the winding corridor as if he was just going for a mug of caffa. No one could suspect. No one could be trusted.

He blinked twice and the horror subsided. It was only the garage. The lightsaber lay on the floor before him, a lightsaber that belonged to him somehow. He sighed and stooped down to examine the weapon. The crystals were still intact. It didn't look like anything was broken, but there was one thing that could never be fixed.

He knew he was no Jedi.


	12. Falling Down

Chapter 12: Falling Down

Shira trudged up the boarding plank of the Ebon Hawk, closely followed by Mical and T3. She was still shaken by the truths the tomb's lies had revealed.

The visions didn't feel like visions now so much as glimpses of the future or of an alternate present. She had recognized the vision of Kreia fighting the crew all too well. Although she respected the old woman's wisdom, she admittedly saw Kreia as a grey spider, sequestering herself away in that dark room to weave webs around her apprentice and the crew of the ship. She didn't trust her teacher and she sensed that most of the others felt the same way. How long would it be before the conflict would erupt? And, how long could she suppress the mutinous thoughts that simmered inside her own brain?

"I'll be glad when we're far away from Korriban," Mical said. "If you don't mind me asking, what did you see in that tomb? You've been very quiet. You look tired."

"It was just a tomb," Shira lied. "I found it strange to be shut in there with all those old bones."

She stood very still, fighting the dizziness that made her head feel like a planet orbiting around her shoulders. She breathed deeply, willing herself to relax into the Force, to let its gentle waves caress her tired body. But she still couldn't tap into that power. It was as though the river had dried up, becoming a rift of broken earth like the long trenches that had scarred the surface of Malachor V.

"Ah, I see." From Mical's wounded expression, she could tell that he wasn't convinced.

As soon as they were all inside the ship, T3 motored away, beeping and whirring, obviously anxious to go interface with Remote.

Mical hesitated. "I don't think you're being entirely honest with me, Shira. If there's something down there that will interfere with our mission, I'd like to know what it is."

"The tomb just showed me a few visions. From my past. It's nothing that should concern you."

Mical frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. His face assumed the expression he usually wore when he was mulling over a datapad. "It concerns me if it hurts you. I care about you. I think you know that by now. Are you ill?"

"Hey, you're back!"

Mira clomped into the center of the room and threw a careless arm around Mical's shoulder. "I'm glad the shyracks didn't mess up your pretty face, Mic."

Mical winced slightly, shrugging off her arm. "Thank you for your kind concern. If anyone should require my assistance, I'll be in the medical bay."

He strode down the corridor with an evident eagerness to get as far away as possible.

"Sweet force, what did I do now?" Mira said. "Can't anybody in this ship take a joke? So touchy."

"Well, for one thing, I don't think he likes it when you call him 'Mic'," Shira said. "He thinks you're making fun of him."

"That's his name, isn't it? Atton told me…"

"Don't listen to a damn word that man says," Shira snapped. "He's had it out for Mical from the minute he saw him."

"So Mical isn't really a Republic spy who spends half his time brushing his hair?" Mira grinned. "Hell, it don't matter to me. I still think he's kinda cute. He can play doctor with me whenever he wants to."

"Heh, I'd like to see you try. Old Mic would probably piss his pants." Atton slouched against the door frame. He was obviously enjoying having caught a pair of women gossiping. "So what were you all saying about me? Something about not believing anything I say? I was just wondering when you'd get to the part where you talk about how 'dreamy' I am."

Shira felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Her entire body seemed to be betraying her today.

"I was planning to say that you smell like a bantha and cheat at cards," Mira said.

"Says the girl who lost a grand total of six times in one night and still owes me exactly 248 credits," Atton replied. "I am expecting payment, you know."

Shira wondered if anyone was in the dormitory, thinking how lovely it would be to be able to hide there in the dark for a while and escape into a dreamless sleep.

"Yeah, you'll get your payment," Mira retorted. "On the day when you stop stashing booze in the cockpit."

She turned to Shira, her voice becoming a malicious pretend whisper almost as loud in the Jedi's ears as a shout. "I'll just leave you two alone. It's obviously what he came for. Being such a _good Jedi_ and all, I'm sure he's _really anxious_ to get to his lessons. Oh, and you might want to watch out: my guess is that he's drunk again."

Shira stared at Atton, trying to detect tell-tale signs. It disturbed her that sometimes she couldn't be sure. Right now, even her vision seemed hazy, out-of-focus somehow. "So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you drunk?"

"No. I wish I were."

"It's bad for you," she muttered.

"Yeah? A lot of things are bad for me. Just so happens that I like some of them."

She heaved a sigh of frustration. Her head pounded as though someone was using her skull for a drum.

"I can't keep training you as a Jedi if you're drinking like that behind my back, Atton. I need to be able to trust you."

"You just told Mira not to believe a damn word I say! I'd say you don't trust me too much to begin with."

"Well, it's a vicious cycle, isn't it? I'd like to trust you. You have such potential as a student of the Force and you just throw it away. It upsets me to see you being so petty and so…selfish."

"Petty and selfish. That's me," he said. "Starting to re-think this whole Jedi make-over project you got planned out for me?"

"I just want you to use your abilities in the right way, for the right causes. There are better things to do with your time than devising ways to torment Mical."

"What else am I supposed to do around this joint? I guess I could walk outside, pick through some old bones and get myself mauled to death by a hssiss. That would be pretty entertaining."

"Don't say that." Shira closed her eyes, raising a hand to her temple. The last vision of the cave and her terrible failure were too close to the surface of her mind. Perilously close.

"Why not? Because you 'care' so much? You claim to care about everyone on this ship and a hell of a lot of good it's going to do anyone."

"What's wrong with that? What do you want from me?" Her voice came as a rasp. "I can't be everything to everyone! I've got to save the galaxy, wipe out the Sith and solve everybody's problems too?"

"Whoa, slow down, sweetheart. I never asked you to be my babysitter. That was your own decision. In fact, I think you should -"

"I can't do this right now," she said, holding her head in both hands. "I need..."

"What's wrong?" Atton said. "Are you al-"

Her mind screamed out the answer that her lips could not. Her eyelids fluttered, her knees buckled beneath her and she passed out cold.

When she awoke, she was lying on a gurney in the medical bay. Mical's face hovered over her, haloed in fluorescent light.

"What happened?" she asked.

The pillow under her head had been fluffed up so high that she seemed to sink right in. She smiled at the healer. "For a second, I thought you were an angel and that I was in a better place than this."

Mical gave a perfunctory chuckle, a doctor humoring his patient, but his face quickly resumed its customary seriousness. "You fainted. It was likely just a matter of stress or possibly dehydration, but I'd still like to do some tests."

"What kind of tests?"

"Just some bloodwork. I promise it won't -"

"You're awake." Atton stood at the doorway, looking uncharacteristically meek.

Mical frowned. "I think it's best for her to rest right now. She doesn't need any disturbances."

"'Disturbances'. That means me. Right. No problem," He turned to leave.

As much she frequently deplored Atton's arrogance, it made her unhappy to see him so compliant, especially when stern Dr. Mical was giving the orders.

"It's okay," she said. "You can stay if you want. Mical is going to take some of my blood for testing, though, so I hope you're not squeamish."

"I think I can handle it," he said, taking a few steps into the room. "I was worried about you. Why didn't you tell me to leave you alone? You never tell anyone when there's something wrong with you. I don't know why you do that."

Mical wrapped a tight band around Shira's forearm. "Next time, perhaps you should avoid haranguing her the second she gets back from a dangerous mission."

Atton paused for a moment, as though weighing his options. Shira was relieved when he decided to ignore the healer and sat down, easing his long frame into a small chair in the corner of the room. She was feeling tired and woozy enough that if they decided to squabble, she figured she'd probably just let them go to it. Anyway, it was tiresome to have to keep policing and stage-managing everything to prevent them from leaping at each other's throats. Mical needs to grow a backbone and Atton just needs to grow the hell up, she thought.

Mical finished applying disinfectant and inserted the needle into her arm.

Being a patient bothered her, the attention and the vulnerability that went along with the clinical touch of sanitized hands, the straps and ties and crisp white sheets. During her time with the med units, she'd always pitied the soldiers, thinking that it was a thousand times more difficult to be a patient than a volunteer. How terrible to lie there and wait to be helped, feeling that your body was broken, embarrassing, uncontrollable while others condescended to bathe you, to roll you over to prevent the bed sores from festering, to smile at you even when they knew the worst was coming. She couldn't stand the idea of being sick and weak, having to depend on the pity of someone who might help her grudgingly or not at all. It was easier to be strong and keep others in her debt.

Atton shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe. "Look, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. You were really out of it for the past couple hours and all I could think about was all the stupid things I said to you, that they might be the last things you'd ever hear."

She tried to focus on Atton's face instead of the pressure of the band tied around her arm, the needle stuck in her blue vein or the tube collecting her blood.

"You said those things because you were angry with me. I get that. But to be honest, I don't know what to do about it," she said. "We've got enough danger around here already and it worries me to see you sabotaging yourself."

Atton's brow furrowed. Somehow, Shira had always perceived him as being younger than her, maybe because he made her laugh or because he seemed so reckless sometimes, but suddenly he seemed to age years in front of her. He has to be in his thirties, she thought. Why did that never occur to me until now?

"Don't worry about me," he sighed. "I've been messed-up for a while now. My whole damn life, come to think of it." It was hard to know whether he smiled or grimaced at the admission. "Anyway, I didn't mean to let that hurt you. And it has hurt you. I can see that now."

"I'm done," Mical said, pocketing a test tube. His narrowed eyes were needle-sharp and his face looked pinched. "I'll process this in the next few hours and we'll discover what the problem is. What sort of symptoms did you experience leading up to this?"

"I was just tired. A bit dizzy," Shira answered. "I had a head-ache. I figured that I needed to get some sleep. I haven't slept well since we arrived on Korriban."

She considered mentioning the visions of the tomb. If they were the product of a neural toxin, Mical might be able to tell her why they had been so vivid, so frighteningly well-aimed at her worst fears and her most potent desires.

She rejected the thought. If she spoke too much about hallucinations, they might want to know what she had seen. Despair. Fear. Betrayal. Death. The shadows that stood behind them all. Could she recount such things to the people who followed her, who seemed to believe that she could get them out of this mess alive?

Mical nodded. "The planet seems to exert strange effects over Force users. I've noticed it in myself as well, although nothing as extreme as what you experienced. I wouldn't be surprised to find that what weakens Jedi only strengthens the abilities of those who rely on the dark side."

Shira tried to ignore the direction of Mical's glance, a gaze that fell pointedly on Atton and lingered there accusingly. She wanted to tell him that it was her guilt too, but she knew he would not listen, that in spite of all his intelligence, he might never understand it.

"You were right, Mical. We need to get off this planet," she murmured. "It's an ugly place. I hope that we never have to return."


	13. Resolutions

Chapter 13: Resolutions

"They're all yours. Just drink them fast and don't let me see them again," Atton said. He reached into the compartment under the pilot's seat and handed three bottles of juma up to Mira. "Take 'em."

Mira peered suspiciously at one of the bottles, which was already three-quarters empty. She gave the bottle a light shake, sloshing the yellow liquid back and forth. "Let me guess: you drink straight out of the bottle? That's repulsive. It's probably all backwash."

Atton rose to his feet. "You want them or not? If not, it's all goin' straight down the 'fresher. Every last drop. Make your choice and make it quick."

She hugged the bottles to her chest like a mother protecting her children. "I think I'll manage to find a use for 'em. I haven't visited my good friend juma in a while." She started off down the hallway and then turned to him with a grin. "Hey, if you see Mic around, tell him I'm having a party in the cargo bay and only he's invited. Alright?"

"Sure," he said.

She winked and raised the bottles in the air in a mock salute. "You're not bad, Rand. Not bad at all."

He sighed and lowered himself into the pilot's seat. The ship was on auto-pilot still, but they were entering a sector notorious for its asteroid fields. It would best to keep an eye out.

He wondered if he'd come chasing after Mira in a couple hours, trying to get his booze back. I should have just poured it down the drain, he thought. I've got to quit cold and keep the stuff out of sight. No cantinas anymore either. He knew he'd have to stick to playing pazaak with the crew or in his head.

He dealt the cards out mentally and began to play. He was laying a +2 card on a hand totaling 17 when Mical walked in.

"I would like to talk to you," he said. "May I?"

Atton grimaced. Go figure, he thought. The moment I give up the sauce, I've got to deal with a lecture from Wonder Boy.

"Why not? Take the navigator's chair, Mic."

Mical sat down. "You know I don't appreciate that name. Your attitude towards me is one of the reasons that things have become so uncomfortable on this ship."

"Listen, kid, you've been to the Shad. We give people nicknames there. We joke them around a bit. You wanna know what kind of names they used to call me back in the Ref District?"

"Not particularly," Mical said.

There'd been some pretty bad names too, especially from some of the women who hung around the cantina. He hadn't cared then. He'd worn their insults as badges of honor, knowing full well that he'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted from them – credits, a couple of drinks or a warm body. Looking back now, he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cringe at the remembrance.

"What I'm trying to tell you is that you've got to lighten up. If you take everything so damned seriously, people are going to want to have a couple jokes at your expense."

"I think that's a poor excuse. I know exactly why you're so hostile towards me," Mical paused. "It has to do with Shira."

Atton stared out into space, desperately wishing for the distraction of an asteroid field. "Yeah? So?"

"You're infatuated with her."

"And what would you know about that?"

"More than you might think," Mical answered. "I knew her before. When we were very young. At the Enclave."

Atton appeared to scoff, but secretly he was seething. It was funny how in all their conversations, Shira had never mentioned this fact before. "What? Is she your first kiss or something? Did you hold hands on the playground? I'll bet that was real cute."

"No, we barely knew each other," Mical said, looking down at the navigation panel. "I was a couple years below her and, at the time, that alone would have put me beneath her notice. But you don't have to be loved to love someone. It happens that way too often I think. Some hormonal trick, I suppose."

Atton arched an eyebrow. "So you've been hung up on her for how many years now?"

"Well, there were others whom I cared for between then and now. I'm not quite as hopeless as you seem to think," Mical retorted. "But Shira - she stayed with me somehow. I admired her courage and her tenacity, her desire to do what she understood to be fair and right even when it was unpopular. And it often was."

"And, c'mon, she ain't bad to look at either," Atton said. "You can't tell me that wasn't a factor."

Mical lowered his head, as though to conceal his smile. "I think you'd find that she changed a great deal from the girl I first fell in love with. The first time I saw her, she was probably ten years old, terribly thin and gangly. She had a little gap between her front teeth. By the time she was ready to leave the Academy, she was beautiful. Lovelier than she is now." He paused. "It didn't make any difference to me. I would have admired her no matter what she looked like, because somehow, she deserved it."

Atton shot him a conspiratorial wink. "Yeah, I believe you, alright. Sure is funny how your noble ideal just happens to look good in a skimpy little dancer's outfit, huh? It's quite the coincidence."

Mical bit his bottom lip, his face indignant. "I have no interest in degrading those I admire. If the decision were mine, she never would have danced for that repulsive Hutt."

Atton watched Mical's face, unsure whether he wanted to punch him on his perfectly sculpted nose or give him a shoulder to cry on. This is what the Jedi Code does to impressionable kids, he thought. It turns them into idealists in a galaxy where nobody can afford to dream. "Why are you telling me this?"

"She doesn't love me. Not in the way that sometimes I wish she would," Mical said. He was obviously striving to keep his voice perfectly level and thus, he spoke slowly, placing emphasis on each word. "She loves you. I can't say I know why. I've heard that scoundrels are lucky."

She loved him.

It was something he had pondered for days on end, sitting in this very chair, watching stars blur with speed into long ribbons of white light.

She loved him.

He was good at keeping secrets and this was the secret he'd kept from even himself. And after all the ways he'd tried to confirm his hopes, to test the theory or disprove it, the revelation had to come from Mical.

She loved him.

"Force! Watch out!" Mical cried. "You're steering us into an asteroid field!"

The asteroids loomed in front of them, tremendous lumps of grey-brown stone that drifted through space with deceptive serenity.

Atton pulled back on a black lever he rarely had cause to use and gripped the manual control.

"This isn't gonna be pretty," he said. "But at least we won't die."

The Ebon Hawk surged upward at a nearly impossible angle, narrowly missing the surface of a nearby asteroid.

All over the ship, boxes were falling off shelves and people were falling on their rear ends. The resulting chaos was loud and Mira's drunken caterwauling was louder. Atton was sure that any positive feelings he'd inspired with the recent gift of juma were now completely forgotten, since she was calling him profanities known to only the most incorrigible back alley scum of the Shad. Compared to these curses, "schutta" was a term of endearment.

"And so we live to see another day," Atton said.

He pushed the black lever back into place and the course of the ascending ship slowly leveled out. "But now, I'm going to ask you again: why are you telling me any of this? In case, you haven't noticed, I'm the competition."

Mical's usually placid blue-grey eyes trained themselves on Atton with almost startling directness. "I'm not competing. I thought I'd made that clear." He sighed. "I want to be honest with you, perhaps callously so."

"Go ahead. I'm sure I've heard worse."

"Thank you; then I won't mince words. I don't think you have much to offer her. If it were up to me, I wouldn't let you lay a finger on her. Or on a lightsaber, for that matter," Mical said, his high-toned voice rising to almost a shout.

He seemed to catch himself and taking in a deep breath, he proceeded in a calmer tone. "But she's made her choices and no matter how I may feel about it personally, I will respect them. I wanted you to know that I loved her, how I loved her. I hope that you will remember this and that you will strive to be – better. Better than I think you are."

Atton glowered at him. To think that for a moment, he'd felt sorry for the sniveler. He spoke from between gritted teeth. "Is that it? You done now?"

"Yes, that's all I wanted to say to you," Mical said. He rose from the navigator's seat.

"Good. Then get out of here."

When he was alone, he couldn't help but crack a bit of a smile.

It figures, he thought. Can't bet on swoops or cards. In a couple weeks, I'll probably be just another stupid corpse for some damned Sith to gloat over. And all of a sudden, I'm lucky.


	14. Survival Stories

Chapter 14: Survival Stories

Atton crept to the door of the port dormitory and peered into the shadows. He was anxious to get this piece of business out of the way before Shira, Bao Dur and the Mandalorian meathead came back from stamping out the revolt in Iziz.

Kreia kneeled on the floor in her usual spot, her bowed back turned away from the entrance as a barricade to any would-be intruders. But she wasn't meditating. Her body was outlined by faint blue light emanating from the holo-vid in her hand. As she watched the images of the old Jedi Council members float before her like phantoms in the dark, her wasted frame coiled forward with almost predatory attentiveness.

"What is it, fool?" she said.

The old woman didn't bother to turn her head and glare at him with her blank, sunken eyes. "I do not enjoy being interrupted by the likes of you."

The holo-vid flicked off, plunging Kreia's hunched form back into the shadows.

"That's too bad," Atton said. "Because I'm here to talk and you're going to listen."

He stepped further into the sanctum sanctorum where Kreia spun her webs and waited to catch the flies.

He shivered. For some reason, the air in here was much colder than on the rest of the ship.

"Then speak and be done, murderer. I am already weary of your presence."

"I'm not your puppet anymore, Kreia. You can't turn me and you can't control me," he said. "I went to the tomb. I stood in the dark energy there and I didn't fall. Your threats mean nothing to me anymore."

From behind the brown hood came a dry chuckle. "A rousing triumph, indeed, to exchange one sort of foolery for another, to trade shackles you can see for those you cannot. But call yourself free. I have no further use for you."

"Not so fast, you old scow," Atton said. "I'm not done talking yet, not by a long shot. I'm going to tell Shira about all you. When I'm done, you can count yourself lucky if she doesn't boot you out the airlock."

Kreia looked over her shoulder and shot him a devious twist of a smile. Her empty, white eyes gleamed like twin moons in the surrounding darkness.

"Ah, yes, you can tell her that you only stood by her because I made you. After all, what woman doesn't love a confessed coward and a known fool? Tell her I was the one who prevented you from fleeing like the spineless deserter you are. Tell her everything, 'Atton', and we'll see whom she decides to trust."

She turned back and resolutely resumed contemplating the dormitory wall.

He stared at the back of the crone's brown hood, silently cursing her. She had all the angles worked out, he thought. She'd probably anticipated this confrontation weeks ago and prepared that little speech in advance.

"I think you're bluffing. I think you're getting scared and you're smart to be."

He paused for dramatic effect, hoping that his own bluff would work.

"When we get back to Dantooine, I want you off this ship. Go crawl back into the hole you came from. If you go easy, I'll keep my mouth shut and you can hold on to whatever scraps of dignity you have left."

"Hm, bargaining so soon?" she said. "Given your past, I thought you would be more skilled in 'negotiations'. Nevertheless, I will consider your proposal, if only because I believe that we will all be parting ways in the very near future."

Atton glowered at her. "And what makes you think that?"

"How do I _know_ that? Let us say that I am a prophetess."

"And what in the hell is that supposed to mean?" he growled.

"You are so very impatient. It tires me," Kreia's voice sounded as though it was coming from a great distance. "You'll see the future laid out soon enough, fool. There's no need to be…precipitous. Besides, I'd be loath to ruin the surprise."

The jungle was lush and dangerously alive with the cries of birds and the hum of insects. Mandalore clambered through the undergrowth with more brashness than he'd ever displayed in Iziz, but Shira couldn't help wishing that she could identify the various rustlings and shrieks that came from the fan-like ferns and thick bushes at regular intervals.

Just this afternoon, she'd spotted a furry brown spider the size of her head scuttling over the fallen leaves. When she asked Mandalore what it was, he'd laughed contemptuously.

"Worried?" he'd said. "Don't be. It's a wortix spider. It only eats birds and the occasional cannok runt."

Shira was anxious to hear how her team of students had fared at Freedon Nadd's tomb. The Mandalorian scouts had already reported that their mission had been a success, but she knew she would feel significantly better if she could see her friends, the people who had been willing to risk their lives to help her.

It had been hard to say goodbye to Atton, Visas, and Mical in front of the Mandalorians, who were obviously embarrassed to witness even a hint of attachment, or Force forbid, affection. Standing amidst a pack of heavily armored brutes, she hadn't felt comfortable saying any of the things she wanted to say to them. In one particular case, she wasn't even sure she knew how to begin.

"Cannoks all over the place," Bao-Dur murmured. "When I was on Telos, one of them ate the better part of my tool kit. Left me nothing but a hydrospanner."

"I hope you slaughtered the damned creature," Mandalore said. "Those things are nothing but pests."

"Maybe here. But on Telos, they're important. Pretty much the only species we've managed to re-introduce so far," Bao said. He gave a quiet chuckle. "You can just be patient, you know. Whatever they put in their mouths comes out the other end eventually."

Mandalore snorted. "A Mandalorian warrior doesn't go rooting through cannok filth."

Shira smiled, trying to imagine the expression of disgust hidden under that metal helmet.

She considered the Mandalorians' notion of honour misguided and repugnant, but she was surprised to have found more sympathy for them than she would ever have thought possible. Much like the Jedi, they followed a stringent code and they imagined that their way was the right way. She only wished that they'd learn the hopeless stupidity of their obsession with war and conquest. When you see the world that way, you can never stop fighting, she thought.

She wanted to believe that one day she'd be able to stop fighting her wars.

She glimpsed the bronze plating of the Ebon Hawk through the foliage and suddenly burst into a sprint.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Hey! We're back!"

"What's she trying to do?" Mandalore grumbled. "Attract every predator within a five mile radius?"

Running down the slope as fast as her legs or the Force could carry her, she dodged under low-hanging branches and ripped through tangled vines. Even the thought of encountering another wortix couldn't stop her.

The grass under her feet was wet and slippery, but she wouldn't slow down, not for the sake of caution or to maintain the poise of a Jedi.

She needed to know that there would still be a time to speak all the words she'd left unsaid.

She burst into the clearing and almost collided into Atton.

She gasped. "You're alright!"

Her arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace and she sighed. "You're alright."

Her cheek pressed against the rough material of his jacket. His body felt warm and solid, so wonderfully real. She could feel his chest rising and falling with every breath.

He grinned down at her, obviously amused at her concern. "Didn't think I'd make it, huh? I thought those Mando thugs would have told you mission succeeded."

"They did. But I needed to see it with my own eyes."

"Yeah? Do you like what you see?"

Looking up at his face, Shira noticed that the dark circles that had hung under his eyes for weeks on end had all but disappeared.

He looks like he actually slept an entire night without having one of those nightmares of his, she thought. He looks better, and strangely…sane.

After her trip into the Sith tomb, she'd been tormented for days by horrible visions flapping around her like shyrack, their papery wings brushing against the edges of her mind. When Atton went traipsing into a crypt full of dark energy, he seemed to have found the cure for insomnia.

She heard heavy boots tromping over the grass just outside the clearing.

Suddenly it occurred to Shira that Mandalore and Bao-Dur were coming and that she had put herself in what might be interpreted as a compromising position.

She bolted back from Atton and assumed a pose of innocence that even she knew was patently unconvincing.

"Hey, the gang is back together again," Atton said, greeting the tech and the Mandalorian.

His eyes returned to her, glinting with meaning. "I must hear all about your vacation on Onderon."

"First, why don't you tell me about your mission here on Dxun?" she said.

With a slight bend of her head, she motioned for him to follow her away from the ship – and anybody who might want to listen in. She was especially suspicious of a certain nosey redhead who liked to practice her 'surveillance' skills on unsuspecting crew members. Mira wasn't in plain view, but that didn't mean she wasn't around.

"Did something happen?" Shira whispered. "You seem a little calmer than normal."

In place of his usual wolfish grin, Atton's smile was almost shy.

"Yeah – I guess I just had to prove something to myself, and I never had a chance to put it to the test 'til then."

The more he spoke, the more obvious the change seemed to her. It wasn't just a change in his face, but an alteration in his body and the tone of his voice.

He stands taller now, she thought. He seems less ashamed, less burdened by a past that he can't change and a future that we can't predict.

She wasn't anticipating a straight answer, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to ask the question: "What did you learn?"

"Nothing I didn't already know," he said.

His smile faded. "Anyway, it's over now…at least until the next disaster hits us."

She didn't want to know what the next disaster was. She hoped that it would never come.


	15. Tomorrow

Chapter 15: Tomorrow

Disaster. It had been the last word in her mind before Kreia sent her slamming against ground.

Now, as Shira crouched over the body of Kavar, she knew what disaster looked like. It looked like the waxen face of the dead man before her, like this broken body that had once been so vigorous and proud of its strength.

She reached out and traced her finger over the single crease that time and worry had carved into his forehead. Did he really believe that she would consume the Force? His words had hurt her most deeply. Coming from him, they had felt most true. Vrook had always hated her and Zez-Kai Ell had barely acknowledged her, but she felt that Kavar knew better anyone exactly what she was capable of.

"_I'm leaving tomorrow, Master Kavar. I thought you should know."_

_She stood in the doorway before his chamber, her body illuminated by a long shaft of light from the window. Her hands were buried in the folds of her robe to disguise their trembling. But nervous as she was, she had accepted her mission. She wanted to succeed._

"_So the war will take you too," he said. "I am sorry to see you go. We have lost so many padawans." _

_He didn't look at her face. His eyes were looking past her body, at her shadow stretched upon the wall. _

_She hoped he meant what he said, although she knew her presence had made the Enclave uncomfortable for him. Every time they sparred together, there were whispers. They were "too close" for some people's comfort. She hadn't cared. Part of her wished that the rumors were true. _

"_What is it like? I've never been part of a real battle before and now they're asking me to lead one." _

"_War? It will change you," he answered. "In many ways for the worse. Are you sure that you want to go?"_

"_Yes," she said. "I am."_

_She crossed the threshold into his chamber, knowing that she had already stepped over a boundary. _

_She took a deep breath before she continued._

"_You should come with me, Kavar. Revan and Alek are powerful, but they don't have your experience. We could use your help."_

_She tilted her head and her lips slightly parted. "I could use your help, too."_

_Kavar stared at her. This time his eyes were trained directly on hers. It unnerved her. "The Council has already made -"_

"_And the Council is wrong," she said. "You know it as well as I._

_The Council doesn't see people, Kavar. Somehow, when all those people get together in that chamber, they forget that people bleed and die, that they breathe and love."_

_She reached out her quaking hands and grasped his face, drawing him down towards her._

"_But I see you. Can you see me?"_

_His body was rigid at first, his shoulders holding their military posture, but then he seemed to melt into her. _

_A feeling of triumph surged through her. This was conquest. This was what it was like to go to war and win._

_She kissed him and as his lips sank into hers, a flash of panic hit her._

_The fantasy was coming true and she wasn't sure if she wanted it to happen. But it was what she signed on for: her first contribution to the war effort._

_She crushed her lips against his all the harder._

_Suddenly, he jerked backwards, pushing her away. "No. I can't do this."_

"_What?"_

_All at once, she was terribly ashamed. She could feel the skin on her face tightening, becoming red with embarrassment and anger. She'd tried to be beautiful for him, but she was just a little fool._

_He shook his head, smoothing the furrow in his brow with one of his large hands. "You're so young. That shouldn't have happened."_

"_I'm eighteen," she said._

_When she heard the words escape her lips, she realized how childish they sounded. She hated him for making her feel so ridiculous._

"_This was a mistake. If you go and meditate on it, I think you will see it too. I need to be alone now to think about this."_

_Her voice had a dull metallic edge. "That's fine. I won't trouble you any longer." _

_She walked away from him, listening to her own footsteps resounding through the corridor, the throb of her pulse in her ears. _

_Tomorrow, she thought. Before he can tell Master Tahet. Before he can go to the Council. Tomorrow, I go._

_The next day she left for the war._

Kavar had been afraid of her. He had seen the monstrosity inside of her, the unceasing hunger, not for power or death, but to be loved.

She wondered if he had ever said anything to the Council. She doubted it. After all, the 'famed Jedi Guardian' had his reputation to protect. It didn't matter anyway. They were all gone.

She would have to forgive him now, and Zez-Kai Ell, and hardest of all, Vrook, who had fostered a strange dislike for her even when she was a youngling. Perhaps even then, the old curmudgeon had felt an inkling of what she would become: a festering wound, a silent scream.

As angry and hurt as she was, there was still love for them all somewhere within her. But it was buried deep and she knew it would take years to dig it all out.

There were no tears in her eyes.

------

Crickets chirped amidst the wet, dark grass of Dantooine. Shira stood upon the plain, gazing at the moon. It lay nestled in the grey clouds like a shard of skull.

Nothing had changed in spite of the horror. Disaster comes but the moon still gleams, the wind still sweeps the plain and in the morning, the sun would still be there to sear her skin with the memory.

They had buried the Jedi Masters that afternoon in the courtyard of the ruined Enclave. The air still simmered around the place where Kavar, Vrook and Zez-Kai Ell had been crushed and drained of all their power. The bodies themselves were husks, dead not only to life but to the Force.

"I still can't believe it," she murmured. "Those men, they taught me when I was just a little girl. They made mistakes, a lot of mistakes, but they tried to be good teachers. They gave their lives to the Order. And Kreia killed them like she was swatting flies."

She looked back at Atton through the darkness. There was a tension, an inevitability hanging between them in the cold night air. It made her shiver.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight."

"Don't thank me," he said. "If you hadn't asked, I would have followed you here."

Shira closed her eyes, feeling the breeze upon her cheeks.

She took in a deep breath. "I'm going to have to face her soon."

"Let's not think about that now," Atton said. "We're going to deal with it when it comes. Tomorrow, okay?"

She gave a slow nod of assent. She wouldn't think. She'd take what she needed, consequences be damned. The next day, she'd leave for the war.

"Tomorrow."

He wrapped an arm around her back, leading her along. "You're shivering. You want my jacket?"

"No," Shira said.

She wanted to let the cold night air nip her skin and seep into her bones. It was only right to allow her body to become as frozen and numb as she felt inside.

"I guess that means I'm going to hafta stay out here and keep you warm," he replied, squeezing her shoulder. "It's a tough job but someone's got to do it. I'm all about Jedi sacrifice."

She tried to muster a chuckle, but all she could manage was a sad flicker of a smile and a grateful little sniffle.

"Damn," she said. "I can't -

"Shhh," he hushed her, rubbing her shoulder with his hand. "So, when this is all over and we're big heroes with lots of Republic credits, I'm fixing on taking a nice long vacation. You want to know where?"

"Where?"

"What do you think of Alderaan?"

"I've never been there. I couldn't tell you."

She'd heard things, of course, about mountains and lakes, the sort of scenery that lures tourists across the galaxy in droves, but she'd rarely had the chance to travel anywhere that wasn't at war or about to be.

"You want to go?"

Shira stared at him. "And what exactly would I do on Alderaan?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Go for a swim. Sit on the beach. Eat food that doesn't come out of a tube. Kill any Sith that get in your way. Take your pick."

She sighed. "That's really nice, but it sounds like someone else's life."

"Just for once, pretend you're a bad, selfish person who couldn't care less about the fate of this stupid galaxy. And don't give me that line about how 'it's the path to the dark side'. If I liked martyrs, I'd spend my time hanging out in the med bay with Doctor Blondie."

She turned to face him, clasping a hand around his wrist. She'd done the same thing to a pickpocket once, when she'd caught him trying to dart a quick hand into her bag.

"You don't believe in the Order at all, do you?"

He regarded her for a moment with veiled eyes.

She could see that his brain was churning around, formulating all kinds of possible truths and possible lies.

He heaved a sigh. "No. I'm not a real Jedi. I'm not made that way. I warned you I was a deserter."

"But you're still here."

He grinned. "For purely selfish reasons, of course. As you once observed, I like to stare at your chest."

"I was looking for a serious answer there."

"Okay, okay. I'll put it this way: if – I mean, when - we get out of this mess we're in, I want to be with you," he said. "I don't know how it would work. Maybe it can't. But it's something that I think about a lot when I'm sitting in that pilot's seat, staring into space."

Shira thought about the Masters, dead and gone, people who'd devoted their entire lives to the Order, who'd struggled to rid themselves of attachments that could have offered them comfort and pleasure.

She thought about Kavar as he backed away from her, telling her to go meditate, as though that could stop her from aching with loneliness.

The Force was beautiful, eternal, pristine, but it couldn't wrap strong arms around her. It couldn't inspire her love like this flawed, broken man.

"I think I might like that," she said. "But maybe we should think about it – tomorrow."

He leaned down and kissed her, but this time it didn't feel like an attack she had to resist.

"This isn't over," he whispered.

His lips blazed a steep trail down her neck, traveling as far as the hollow between her collar bones. "I'm used to getting what I want. I can be very persuasive when I try."

"I know," she said, pressing her hungry mouth to his.

The moon cast cold light around them, tracing their bodies with silver hands.


	16. The Core

Chapter 16: The Core

Furious gusts of wind battered the Ebon Hawk. A bolt of lightning shot across the horizon, illuminating the inky clouds of smoke that rose from rifts in the dead planet's scarred surface. The ship hurtled through a day as dark as any night, plunging like a dagger into the twisted heart of Malachor V.

Atton squinted into the murky sky, his mouth set into a determined line. "I can't see anything in this mess," he muttered.

Another ferocious blast shook the Hawk.

Somebody smashed against the wall of a nearby room with a sickening thud.

Mira had obviously been the unfortunate victim, because she yowled like a tach and started hollering louder than the thunder rumbling outside.

"Schutta! Frackin' son of a bantha! Hey Rand, you plannin' to crash the ship…again?"

"You wanna try sitting in the pilot's seat?" Atton sneered. "Until then, kindly shut up."

Shira peered out the window from her position in the navigator's seat. "There's a break in the clouds just down and to the right. See if you can get us there."

The Ebon Hawk careened to the right, buffeted on all sides by the fists of the wind.

Lightning flashed around them and all at once, the ship gave a terrible shudder like an animal in its death throes. The lights flickered and went out.

Oh Force, no, Shira thought, in the mere seconds before the Ebon Hawk crashed into one of the rocky crevices of Malachor V. Instinctively, she curled her head down into her arms.

The impact of the crash sent her sprawling onto the control panel.

She moaned, feeling warm blood dribbling down her forehead.

If you can feel yourself bleed, you're still alive, she thought.

She slowly raised her head, looking out the still-intact window at the desolate surface of what had once been a planet worth fighting for. She pried herself up with her forearms and managed to push her body back into the navigator's chair.

A body lay crumpled on the floor beside the command console. Atton. He wasn't moving.

Shira rose shakily to her feet and stumbled to his side.

She gripped his shoulder in her hand, her voice coming first as a rasp and then as an inhuman shriek. "Atton? Atton? Atton!"

She whimpered, blood dripping from her forehead and tears streaming from her eyes.

Atton's eyes shot open. "Wha? Calm down, sweetheart. I'm not dead yet."

For a moment, Shira was tempted to knock him unconscious again. "Schutta! You think that's funny?"

He sat up slowly, rubbing his head with a look of bafflement. "What do you mean? You think that crash was a joke? Even I don't hate Mira that much."

Shira reached up with a hand and pressed against the wound at her scalp. "I'm leaking blood and tears all over the place."

He grinned and rose to his feet with a groan. "Don't worry. Even when blood is spurting out of your head, I still think you're a knock-out."

"Thanks a lot. All my problems solved."

Shira turned towards the darkened corridor. She felt a sense of uneasiness, a tear within the fabric of the Force. It could simply be the deaths of the Masters or the mass grave of Malachor itself that plagued her, but she would not be calm until she had seen the rest of the crew safe.

"I'm going to make sure everyone's okay. Try and assess the damage as much as you can."

"Will do," he said.

He looked ill. "'Scuse me for a sec."

Turning his back on her, he sauntered a few shaky steps towards the nearest corner and crouched down. She could hear him gagging in the dark.

"Are you going to be alright here?"

"Yeah," he sighed, wiping his mouth. "I think that was it for me. I hope everybody gets off so lucky."

Shira crept down the corridor, peering into each room she passed as she made her way to the ship's main chamber. "Hello? Is anyone hurt?"

The names of her friends played through her mind like a hopeful prayer or a grim recitation: Mira, Mical, Visas, Bao-Dur, T3…

Mical's broad-shouldered silhouette loomed out of the shadows. He carried Visas in his arms.

Shira froze. "Mical. Is she-?

"I'm glad you're safe. She's just unconscious. But…"

"But what?"

"Shira, Bao-Dur is dead."

"What?!"

Compared to Mical's determined calm, she knew she sounded hysterical. She didn't want to believe it, but she couldn't deny the hollow echo she heard ringing through the Force and through her own bones.

"Are you sure? Where is he?"

"The garage," he said. "But don't go in. It's not safe."

Mical's warning was issued only to the darkness – Shira had already bolted towards the workshop and refuge that had become her friend's tomb.

As she was about to enter the garage, T3 wheeled towards her and blocked her path, his lights flashing frantically.

"Bip-bip beeeeep!"

"T3, let me past!"

HK-47 strode towards her, his long metal limbs clanking together. "[Helpful Explanation:] Master, one of your non-targets has unfortunately suffered an entirely accidental demise. This room has been the site of an electric explosion. While I find contact with live wires quite invigorating, you watery organics may find the experience distinctly…hazardous."

Staring past HK's towering frame, Shira gasped and choked back the sudden urge to vomit.

Bao-Dur's mechanical arm lay outstretched on the garage floor, still emitting a ghostly blue glow. Sparks of electrical energy from the broken shields danced around his body. Remote hovered gently above the zabrak's body like a small black moon orbiting a planet.

She swallowed hard, feeling her face burn with anger at the injustice of it. Why did he have to die here, on Malachor V, of all places?

She stared through the shadows at Bao-Dur, her fellow soldier, her friend, making him a silent promise: whatever happens, we won't bury you here. Not on Malachor.

I'll die first, she thought. I'll kill first.

"HK, get him out of there."

"[Objection:] Perhaps, in this excitement, you have forgotten, Master, but I am programmed to dispose of living meatbags, not to retrieve - "

"HK, get my friend out of that garage or I will turn you into scrap metal and use you to re-plate the ship."

"[Enthusiastic Declaration:] Yes, Master!"

HK passed through the electrical surge and scooped the large zabrak up into his arms with surprising ease.

Remote seemed poised to float after his creator, but suddenly the small droid experienced a slight tremor and spun away, drifting out of the room.

As HK approached carrying her friend's remains, Shira noticed that Bao-Dur's robe was charred, but that his face was unaltered, almost calm.

He's one with the Force now, she told herself. She had to believe that, if only to remain sane. After everything he suffered in the War, she thought, he's made his peace. And now I have to go make mine.

When they arrived at the med bay with the body, Mical and Atton were waiting for them. Mical had laid Visas on one of the gurneys and now they cleared a second one for Bao-Dur. They laid him on it gently. Shira tucked a pillow underneath his head even though she knew it wouldn't make her friend any more comfortable; it wouldn't put the breath back into his broken body or the glint back into his staring eyes.

Atton frowned, eyeing Bao-Dur's face. "Poor guy. Where are the others?"

"I didn't see anyone else," Shira said.

Mical cleared his throat. "I made a thorough search of the ship and I'm afraid that I failed to find either Mira or G0-T0 on board. It's a grim possibility, but perhaps they wandered out…"

"To do what exactly?" Atton scoffed. "Take a walk in the park?"

Mical's retort was cold and precise. "I said it was a logical possibility. I couldn't speculate as to their motivations. "

"It doesn't matter," Shira said. "I'm heading out there anyway. I'll just have to find them, wherever they are."

She gripped the hilt of her lightsaber. It was comforting to feel it in her hand. If there has to be another dead body today, she thought, let it be me. Let it end with me.

"Mical, please take care of Visas and anyone else who needs medical attention. Try and get some med supplies together if you can."

"I'll do my best," the healer said.

Shira patted his shoulder, marveling at his strength and composure.

"That's all I could ask for. Thank you for traveling with me, Mical. You didn't have to come to this terrible place and yet you're here."

Mical's face was solemn. "It has been, and will remain, an honour."

She turned to Atton, embarrassed at the prospect of saying goodbye to him in front of Mical. But even if they had been alone, she was uncertain of what she would say, how much she could promise him when death loomed over her and seemed to emanate around her even more strongly than the Force itself.

"Alright, Atton: I need you here with the Hawk. Get T3 and HK to help you make as many repairs to the ship as you can. We need her flight-worthy. I'll be back here when it's finished, when Kreia and I have come to…an understanding. In the mean time, please stay here and follow my orders. And yes, that's an order."

She slipped out of the medical bay, but as obstinate as ever, the spacer was on her heels.

"You can't be serious! You can't go out there alone. There are stormbeasts everywhere," Atton said. "The droids can take care of the repairs. I'm coming with you. You're going to need every good 'saber you can get."

She hurried through the main deck, heading towards the exit ramp.

"You're the pilot around here. It's that simple. I need you to fix the ship and fly it. That's what pilots are supposed to do."

"Shira... "

I owe him, she thought. I owe him and I don't know if I can ever repay him. Even the truth, the whole truth, wouldn't pay the cost and she had stopped knowing what was true weeks ago.

She reeled around to face him, her voice lowering to an insistent whisper. "If I'm not back by tomorrow, Atton, I want you to burn sky out of here as fast as you can. I need you to promise you'll do that for me."

"Why? You planning on getting yourself killed?"

"Not if I can help it," she said. "But to be honest, there are a lot of things that I can't help."

He grasped her in his arms, holding her in place. "Well, you helped me. And I'm a tough case. You're the best woman I know."

She felt her throat tighten. The words seemed to choke her. "Atton, I lo -"

He silenced her with a firm kiss. "Don't. Not now. Give me the message when you come back."

Atton's expression was so serious, so unexpectedly earnest, that the sheer incongruity of it on his face threatened to make her laugh. "Alright, alright."

"Don't disappoint me. I'll be waiting for you and I'll wanna hear it," he said. "Well, unless you were trying to say, 'Atton, I lo-aned you some credits and I want them back.' If it's that, just don't mention it."

Okay, there's the Atton Rand I know, she thought. Playing the fool even when he's smart enough to know better.

She stretched her neck back and laid a soft kiss on his cheek. "No, it's not that. We can talk about it - tomorrow."

"I'm holding you to that," he said.

As she stepped onto the scorched earth of Malachor V and felt the ribs of death close around her, she wondered if it was a promise she could keep.


	17. Restoration Projects

Chapter 17: Restoration Projects

The sapling had come from the Ithorian vivarium and although it was small, its branches had already sprouted waxy green leaves that reached skyward like cupped hands.

Shira's hand swiped across her pale face, rubbing away the tears that trailed down her cheeks. Bao-Dur's grave. Better a tree than a tombstone, she thought.

She was grateful that Chodo Habat had permitted them to return to the Restoration Zone, RZ-0031, to lay Bao-Dur's remains to rest.

The Ithorians were understandably hesitant about allowing people to wander the surface of the recovering planet, but in this case, they'd permitted nearly a dozen visitors to tread the ground and witness the burial.

"We are sorry," Chodo intoned. His deep, ponderous voice seemed to come from the earth itself. "He was my friend and I will miss him. I have felt his calming presence strongly these past few days. Even now, when I look at the planet, I see him here, surrounding us."

"He's one with the Force now," she murmured. "I just wish that made it easier to let him go."

She felt Atton's hand press gently on the small of her back. He had been uncharacteristically quiet all day, avoiding her gaze, but he stood beside her nonetheless.

He still thinks it's his fault, she thought. The crash had been an accident, unavoidable in the storm, but it didn't matter – he seemed to insist upon blaming himself.

She'd tried to talk to him about it once, but he kept shifting the subject to their plans to visit Alderaan. The idea of going to the planet had become an obsession with him. When he thought she wasn't watching, he would go over the hyperspace routes for the Alderaan system again and again, as if learning them by heart. It made her uncomfortable, but it was better than catching him staring disconsolately at the Citadel cantina as though its flashing lights promised paradise, salvation, paradise, salvation with each neon flicker.

Seventeen days and counting, he told her. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe in him.

Once the numbing adrenalin of Malachor V had worn off, her memories of Bao-Dur had come back with surprising vividness. They flooded in around her, moments that she remembered with a mixture of pleasure and sorrow.

He'd always had a way of comforting her with his quiet humor and his gentle voice. She remembered, too, the low, dry chuckle he gave when she tried to coax him away from his droids or when Mira teased him. It had always seemed somewhat sad, somewhat resigned, as though the zabrak was patiently tolerating the galaxy as a bitter joke without a punch-line.

The Ebon Hawk's garage had been cleared and repaired, but Shira still couldn't bring herself to enter it, to see the place that Bao had inhabited and peopled with his creations an empty metal shell. When she had to walk by it, she always averted her eyes.

She scanned over the faces of her shipmates, her friends, trying to gauge their feelings without penetrating too fair into their minds.

Mira stood beside a hooded and downcast Visas, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Earlier that day, Shira had heard her crying in the 'fresher, her sobs almost masked under the sound of running water. Now, she just bit her lower lip and squinted into the afternoon sunlight.

There was Mandalore, who had rejoined them on their return to Citadel. He wore his usual heavy armor and looked even more impassive than the droids beside him. Level with the Mandalorian's knee, T3 seemed comparatively grief-stricken, emitting quiet beeps and flashes of light.

HK-47 towered over them both, his copper plating gleaming in the sun.

After Malachor, Shira had momentarily considered how pleasurable, how utterly cathartic it might be to scrap the psychotic bucket of bolts and rid the bad memories associated with him from her constant sight. Instead, in anticipation of the funeral, she had installed a Protocol Pacifier Package into the assassin droid's programming. As a result, he seemed relatively good-humored and compliant, and thankfully, had not yet found any occasion to utter the word "meatbag".

Mical stood a measured distance apart from the others, clasping his hands together in front of his neatly pressed robe. His face was solemn but calm. The face of a true believer, Shira thought.

The healer caught her looking at him and seemed to feel this was a cue to speak to her about the very topic he knew she didn't want to debate. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and discomfort as he started moving towards her.

As if on signal, the rest of the group clustered around the grave started to separate and disperse, walking back towards the transport ship. They were obviously anxious to avoid having to hear yet another confrontation on the subject.

Before Malachor V, it hadn't been this way. He had been her student then, and if he didn't always agree with her views on training Jedi or her ideas about the Force, he'd always tried to hide his displeasure. His enduring faith in the Order and its codes had impressed her and sometimes, amused her, but until recently it had never made her want to avoid him.

"How are you?" he asked.

His blue eyes cut into her. "Have you re-considered your…plans?"

Atton's hand on her back tightened into a fist. "It's always about your precious Order, isn't it? People die and all you can think about is whether you'll get your damned Council," he snarled. "Go bother someone who cares."

Shira tried to speak slowly and calmly. She thought of Bao-Dur's voice and the gentle power it once had to stop arguments from devolving into shouting matches.

"That Council chair doesn't belong to me, Mical. I'm happy that you want to restore the Order, that it still has meaning for you, but I won't be the enforcer of a code that I can't follow."

A deep frown marred Mical's youthful face. For a moment, he reminded Shira of Master Vrook, of all people. "These doubts are only temporary moments of weakness, but if you make an effort, you will find the strength to resist them. Surely you must know that without the guidance of a Jedi trained in the old Academy, our work will lose credibility."

She sighed. "Mical, you're a historian. You know the workings of the Order better than I ever did."

"Perhaps, but the Republic won't perceive it that way. If they see you turn your back on us and walk away, the Senate may decide to delay the project indefinitely or forget about the Order all together."

A restored Council would be the same as the old Council in at least one respect, she thought: they would be mired in the politics of the Republic with all its accompanying bureaucracy and hypocrisy.

"If that's the case, if the whole thing stands on such a shaky foundation, then maybe the Code has outlived its purpose. Perhaps the Jedi need a new way."

Mical's jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. "If you believe that, then I have nothing more to say to you. I only hope that your decision won't be a cause for regret."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said.

Atton seized hold of her hand. "Let's get out of here. The ship's waiting."

She caught a last glimpse of Mical just before she turned her back on him. His mouth a thin line, it was obvious that he was barely controlling his disappointment and his anger, but he stood proud and tall in his long brown robes. His bravery and his commitment were unquestionable, even if he chased after a doubtful good. In that moment, he seemed to strike a sad, ridiculous, noble figure to her. Like the sight of Bao-Dur's grave, she knew that last image of Mical standing there would linger in her mind long after her feet had abandoned the soil of Telos.

They walked away.

"The only cause I'll have for regret is not putting a dent in that smug face," Atton fumed.

She stared at him reproachfully. "Because after burying our friend, that would be completely appropriate, right?"

"Well, I didn't do it, did I? I practiced some admirable self-restraint."

"All the self-restraint of a rancor," she replied. "If I were a good Jedi, I'd confiscate your lightsaber."

He smirked at her. "When we get back to Citadel, you can confiscate my lightsaber as many times as you want. But seriously, let's get out of here. Just looking at this place makes me think about stuff that – that I don't want to think about. You ready?"

Her mind flashed to Bao-Dur's sapling. Over the years, it would grow towards the sun and spread roots deep into the soil. It would live and change in ways that cold, timeless stone could not.

We all need a restoration project, she thought. Perhaps Alderaan would be hers. Or maybe she would never be able to find the life, the normalcy, that the Order had taken away from her as just a child, giving in exchange only the thrill and the terrifying burden of power.

I need this, she thought. I need to try and grow roots somewhere.

"Yes," she said to him. "I'm ready."


	18. The End of the Beginning

Chapter 18: The End of the Beginning

Ahead of them, the Ebon Hawk gleamed in the bright afternoon sun. Shimmering in the heat of the day, it seemed almost as insubstantial as a mirage. Outside the ship, T3 was motoring around in a tizzy of excitement making a last-minute maintenance check on the hull.

Atton knew that ship was going to haunt his dreams. No other ship had given him the thrill he'd experienced when the Hawk swooped through space, executing graceful dives and hairpin turns at his every whim. His fingers still itched to grasp the controls.

Shira stopped, turning to gaze at him. "I guess this is it."

"It doesn't have to be. It's not too late to change your mind," he said. "I still don't trust that shifty little droid."

Her lips twitched into a shaky smile.

"I have to go, Atton, and I have to go alone. I can't stay here and pretend not to notice when the rest of the galaxy is falling to pieces. I love you, but if I don't at least try to help, I'm going to hate myself."

They'd already hammered out the arguments dozens of times. He'd tried to reason with her over the breakfast table or as they lay in bed, staring at the long crack in the white plaster ceiling. She always countered with the same objections and repeated phrases that frustrated him because they seemed to have been cribbed from some secret Jedi handbook. What disturbed him most was the fact she spoke about the Unknown Regions as though they were a death sentence hanging over her head.

He sighed. "Be careful out there. Don't do anything too noble or stupid. And try not to run around in your skivvies too much. I hear that attracts the wrong sort of guys."

His mind flashed to the time he'd gone sprinting across Nar Shaddaa like a madman, a couple of medpacs in hand. Of course, this wasn't just some meeting at the Jekk'Jekk Tarr. The evil she had to contend with now made a get-together with the Exchange seem as routine as a cup of caffa. Still, he'd felt the same sense of helplessness and the same desperate knowledge that whatever he offered her would probably not be enough.

"Noble and stupid. That's me alright," she said. "I'll try to avoid traipsing around the Unknown Regions in my underwear, but I can't make any promises."

She leaned forward and kissed him softly.

Her lips lingered on his for a moment and then he felt her draw away with agonizing slowness.

Torture. Like somebody was bleeding him real slow.

"Thank you for my vacation," she whispered. "It was everything I could have wished."

"We had a good run, didn't we?" he said. "I don't regret it. Any of it."

"Goodbye, Atton."

Her hand brushed lightly across his cheek. He caught a glimpse of her as she turned, the pale blur of a face that would not cry, and then she was moving towards the ship.

He watched her walk away, her blue robe whispering lies against her body.

His lips felt parched. His mouth was drying up. How many days now? Too many.

Damn, it didn't matter. Not anymore.

"Atton?"

Her voice jolted him back to the docks. She stood on the boarding plank.

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever plan on telling me your real name?"

He hesitated for a long moment, staring into the face of the beautiful woman who, for a time, had been his woman.

He didn't know why it was so hard to spit it out. It was three letters long. Two consonants and a vowel.

"It's nothing special," he said. "Just plain old Jaq. Never liked it much anyway."

"Goodbye, Jaq," she murmured.

And then, before he could answer her, before he could choke out another word, she melted into the shadows of the Ebon Hawk like a good dream.

He stood and waited, watching as the ship lifted off, as it passed over the spires of Aldera and the cloud-wreathed mountains, in a steep ascent to the stars.

"Goodbye," he said.

Author's Note: If you've been following this series, don't despair! This is where "Sun and Moon" ends but it is also where the bridge interlude, "New Order" and the sequel, "The Stars" begin! I will be posting chapters for "New Order" very soon.


End file.
